That phrase seems obvious, but it bears repeating.

Solidarity leads to confidence.

If I know I'm not the only one who feels a certain way, I am emboldened to act or speak up. This has real-world consequences. When I am afraid, but I know I am not alone, the threshold for me to act in accordance with my values is lowered. We are seeing this happen more and more now - beginning with a few courageous souls who were willing to speak up about the genocide in Gaza on social media or out in public spaces, and extending to school staff refusing to allow ICE to enter buildings to intimidate and arrest children who are suspected of being in this country "illegally." (Which begs the question, when ICE shows up in an elementary school and demands to see a child's papers, what child is carrying identification on them that proves that they are a citizen of this country? Would my white, born in the United States children have been able to pull their birth certificate confidently out of their backpack to show a federal agent who was in uniform and wearing body armor and carrying a weapon? The only purpose of ICE showing up at schools is to terrorize people. Period.)

While there is a real fear of being targeted for speaking up and speaking out, we also know that the more we come together to call attention to violence and hypocrisy and criminal activity by our elected officials (and appointed ones, too, cough-cough), the more likely it will be that change happens. When we are being gaslighted by people in power (including the media), we can come together to create a shared reality and form connections that sustain us.

In an online gathering this morning, my friend Karen asked the group of us what resilience means to us. She asked us to reflect on periods in our lives when we were more or less resilient and discern whether we could pinpoint a difference.

I knew my answer immediately.

Without exception, the times in my life when I have felt more able to face challenges and find creative solutions and fight for what I needed and believed in were because I felt held in community. Even if those who were holding me weren't taking actual tangible steps to help me solve a problem (or even if the problem itself wasn't technically "solvable"), simply knowing that I was part of a larger community of people who loved me and wanted me to be safe, happy, and whole gave me a strength I didn't have on my own. When I felt alone and isolated, I was at far more risk of giving up or acting from a place of fear and lack.

It may not seem like it, but this is why I hold Grief and Rage workshops. Because the more we increase our capacity to receive care when we are afraid, hurting, overwhelmed, the more resilient we are. When we come together to create a collective container for our shared emotions, we can hold more, and draw on each other's wisdom, life experiences, and strength. Grief and Rage work is as much about learning to work with big emotions as it is practicing being held, learning to trust in solidarity.

If we are going to fight for what we believe in, we need each other. I hope you'll consider joining us beginning on February 8.

Logistics:

• We gather on Zoom every other Saturday, beginning February 8 through the end of April (six sessions)
• We begin at 10am PST and stay together for 90 minutes
• You will gather with people who want to build community and are also experiencing grief, and I'll hold us through some skill-building around ways to re-balance our nervous system responses when we are dysregulated, identifying where grief and rage live in your body, and somatic practices to move that energy
• Payment for the entire series is on a sliding scale between $120 and $360, payable via Zelle or Venmo (but if the lowest end of the scale is still too much, let me know via the sign up form and we can make it work - I don't want money to be a barrier to building community - EVER).
• Sign up sheet is here: https://forms.gle/Ew7LSRv7jTc9gvw9A​

As always, hit reply with questions or comments. I'm here.