Leading up to the election last year, I listened to black women talk about sitting out of protests. They said it wasn’t safe. It was the first time I’d heard them talk about this. They reminded me of my privilege as a white woman. Working through my emotions around it, I felt shame for never having protested before. I also had grace for myself because no one had shown me how or why it was important. And, I felt sadness, empathy, because I had in my lifetime nothing to protest.

Growing up, I had nothing to stand up for. I had none of the systemic struggles non-white people did. But I had immediate struggles within my home. In moments when I began to stand up to the world around me, adults shot me down. My needs were selfish, they said. They were minor inconveniences compared to “starving children in Africa”.

The church too, confirmed my needs as selfish—sinful, in fact. The only one worthy of my fight was Jesus, or a fellow Christian if they found themselves in hot water. For instance, if one of my peers was being called racist, I had a duty to stand up for them. I needed to stop people from “overreacting” to something as well-meaning as “I don’t see color.” What was only punishment for our behavior Christians saw as persecution for our beliefs.

Within marriage, the story continued. The church at large placed significant value on a man’s comfort within marriage. They deemed my needs selfish and sinful again. I was married now. My priorities had to change. I was not a woman, I was a wife.

When I began to speak up on TikTok in 2020, I was a 43-year-old little girl who had been conditioned to let everyone else make decisions for me. They decided what I wore, what I believed, the news I listened to, and the way I raised my kids.

But as I began to awaken, I expanded my news to NPR, and PBS when the kids had a show on. I pulled back at church on Sundays, sitting while others stood. I planned groceries in my head instead of listening to another sermon. Then I made excuses not to go, and I paid closer attention to rainbow flags and people who identified with them. I compared their love to mine and started to see patterns.

The so-called liberals were intent on helping people exist safely in the world. They sacrificed themselves for their community, even when it wouldn’t benefit them. It was similar to the mission trip my church took to build a church in Mexico, but without the tourism and the proselytizing.

The only hate I saw was anger and frustration with people like me trying to stop them. They hated the way Christianity wanted to control everything. Christians loved Jesus and hated suppression. Liberals loved people and hated oppression. But it would be a few more years before I could articulate that.

In 2020, I was beginning to stand up for myself. I was learning about boundaries for the sake of my kids who were struggling. Their dad was growing angrier and his entitlement was harder to hide as I became more aware of it all. I couldn’t stand up for my kids back then because I couldn’t stand up for myself yet. My head was in such a fog, I couldn’t see them. I didn’t see how they were suffering because I was suffering too. I honed in on survival and had no peripheral vision.

Abuse and oppression cause trauma—and micro traumas—which cause PTSD and C-PTSD. I believe it’s a large majority of the country experiencing generational trauma. This causes them to fight each other. And because they’re suffering, they can’t see their neighbors suffering too.

It’s difficult to experience empathy when it’s not extended to you. It’s hard to walk in someone else’s shoes when yours are worn to shreds. When we can’t hold our own pain, it’s pushed out onto others. There is freedom in self-acceptance. It affords us the freedom to fight for causes not our own.

In right wing circles, it’s a bleak cult mentality. We fight for each other or Jesus, but it ends there. My fight consisted of posting a cross to facebook and thanking Jesus for making me white again today. I didn’t actually say that, but it would have been as cringey.

Adam & Eve

In the early days of my awakening, while I was still married, I wrote a blog post about Adam and Eve. I talked about how Eve didn’t exist yet when God told Adam not to eat the fruit. It was Adam’s responsibility to make sure Eve received God’s message—and that she could trust it. God’s message and Eve’s obedience to it was dependent on the relationship Adam had with his wife. Could Eve trust his word? I wrote that Satan didn’t ask, “Did God really SAY that?” What he said was, “Did GOD himself say that (or was it Adam who said it)?”

I began my protest by standing up for Eve. In the middle of a small Pentecostal church with my husband, I made my written protest vocal. After a sermon about Adam and Eve, the pastor calling for discussion, I raised my hand. I told them everything I had written. Chairs scooted and people murmured. The pastor twisted his brow and looked at my mortified husband. This was the beginning of a million more small protests that led me out of that life.

Once out, a fire was lit, and I made my protest my platform. I wrote and spoke and cried and joked, and somehow changed hearts and minds. Men and women who hated my protest in 2020 started following me and protesting to people around them.

These men and women don’t all hold signs on street corners though. Their protest won’t make it to social media or the evening news. They correct people in comments and share informative links. They tell their story—or mine—to friends and family who find themselves in a similar position. They push the system in their unique ways, using their unique voices.

Posting and reposting is a form of protest. Singing and dancing is protest. Wearing a T-shirt is protest, as is serving at a restaurant that’s feeding protesters. Every small voice is a voice and every small act is action. Voices make a chorus and action makes a movement.

Other No Kings Protesters

* You protested if you drove by and honked

* You protested even if you couldn’t risk your job to be there

* You protested if you were sick or disabled and wanted to be there

* You protested if you provided childcare for a protester

* You protested when you reposted the videos of protests

* You protested if you left MAGA behind but were afraid to join the crowd you used to shame

* You protested when you cheered for people in costumes

* You protested if you refused service to an antagonizer or ICE agent

* You protested if you’re black or brown and it wasn’t safe

* You protested if you donated to organizers or other community groups

* You’re protesting when you put signs in your yard

* You protest even when you have social anxiety and can’t handle crowds

* You protest when you have an abusive parent or spouse who won’t let you go

* You protested if you’re a single mom with kids and no other adults to care for them

* You protest when you make sure protest content is being seen and pushed by the algorithm. Every like, comment, and share counts!

Do your best protest in the moment, as you’re able. There was a time when my protest consisted of hiding the remote to get my husband to spend more time with the kids. But it became divorce, therapy for the kids, and a whole new life helping other women do the same. And I have a long way to go still.

There is a lot more we can do. But there’s no need to shame yourself for what you’re not doing yet. If someone is telling you that what you’re doing isn’t enough, try not to be offended. Understand that they’ve just been at it longer and they may resent people who are just getting started. You can’t jump right in at their level, but you can heal the wounds that have held you back and keep going forward in that direction.

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