Lighting candles, burning sage, going to therapy, accessing medication, praying, giving offerings to the ancestors have all been ways that I heal at the intersections of my beautifully complex existence.
My immigrant mother is a Korean herbalist and healer. She sang and talked to her plants, viewing them as living things that felt vibrations. She bestowed my body with the magical protection of her prayers and murmured blessings on me when I lay feverish in my bed as a child
On low-energy, high-burnout days, I’m still feeding the cycle of working too much, not really resting, and definitely not feeling restored. To pay down rest debt, I have to notice when I’m doing this and give myself permission to pull back.
Each interview is a gold mine, a feast of quotes to be hung up on walls, tattooed on arms, and copied in notebooks. A flurry of words to hold close on nights when being seen seems impossible and it feels as if no one else in the world knows who or what you are.
Every day that passes, I have come to know who I am a little bit more, and I like who I am. I have a life and a future out there in the free world, and resting for resistance keeps me sane so that I can avoid any issues that might keep me here any longer.
Celebrating our struggles and successes, and what we can learn from them, is far more meaningful than a mere style parade that glamorizes binary identities, heteronormative rights, and impossible-to-maintain beauty standards.
The “to do” list implies that each 24 hours is an uphill battle.The “done list” says that I’m conquering the day one step at a time.
When we heal, we are able to be more to each other and ourselves. And not in that way where it eventually makes us good productive workers. We become more invested in ourselves, and we have more of ourselves to utilize in the ways that bring joy for everyone, including us.
We all deserve community, and many of us find that on social media. So how can we practice self-care online while navigating the bullshit?
We require physical rest, emotional connections, daydreaming, food, laughter, purpose. And all of these things prevent us from fitting neatly into a machine model.
Self-care is so simple it can also be simple to forget. If you need time to put down work and check out from life, then take it. Know that you are restoring your energy for the challenges of life.
The best tricks are the ones that keep you alive. This is the one I invented for myself to soothe me in my lonely nights. I call it my most beautiful illusion, it's me at my most honest but nonetheless still a lie.
love demands time / to break borders and / to build bridges. / so give yourself time and / the honour to love. / so give yourself the care / to love your own soul / and oneness of existence.
I learned about Sufism, Jainism, Kemetism, Buddhism, Shinto, ancestor worship, Hoodoo, and many other ways of being. I learned about myself.
I don't have Diabetes or any of my other Illnesses and Disabilities because I'm Fat. I am not Fat because I am lazy, have low self-esteem, lack self-control, don't know how to eat properly, or any of the other disturbing ideas you have imposed upon me and other Fat bodies.
I think of the story she told me of stealing fruit from her grandfather’s shrine to Ogun. I want to reach past her and my Christian grandparents, pluck that fruit, and make an offering of it.
Until a violent person takes accountability and creates change in their patterns of behavior, the best thing to do is limit the harm being caused.
Not only are mental health and racism deeply intertwined, but that connection is too often overlooked or denied. Intersectional mental health isn’t neat and tidy, with one problem over here and the other over there, and the messiness is what we need support to work through
Intersectional spaces are invaluable for creating a truly humanistic view of people whose voices and stories are often marginalized, distorted, or entirely erased.
When our experiences and identities are erased from history, from our lineages, from our traditional systems of community, we can only see ourselves through the negative lenses that remain.
every villain is often a caricature of marginalised identities, and every hero is a glorified image of the world that wants to destroy me and those I love.
Those feelings didn’t come from some magic place that could be addressed by a back-to-school special and a hug. They came from racism, queerphobia and white supremacy.
The health of our societies depends on the community's ability to hold its members accountable in a way that makes space for each other's individual, predisposed fallibility and capacity for personal growth.
We are divine. The barrier between us and divinity can be destroyed by the realization that our queerness is exactly what makes us worthy.
Though my relationship with a man hides my queerness in a sort of closet, I'm a black queer woman, and I want to support others more at risk in the queer community. Here are five ways I help.
We, fat black queer women are viewed as the symbol of desire that is chaotic. Expected to be the backbone of each community without being viewed as the celebrated prototype of any given community.
Whether you have a little privilege or a lot, it’s easy to feel helpless when considering the scope of systemic oppression. Growth is always possible, so once we accept the need to change, the only question is how.
I am doing my best to prioritize self-care. I am redirecting anger into providing information on Puerto Rico’s colonial status; however I cannot dissociate from the heartache. No action can eliminate the exhaustion and the sorrow.
I was later to realize that it was all about control.
The role models I had access to were white, affluent and held a lot of disdain for women with lives different than theirs. But back then they had an image, and their way to be trans was what I had.
You refuse to engage with your abuser. Their presence reopens old wounds. You try to heal but it hurts. You like a worm on a bamboo stick hooked on the teeth of lies. Pain pushes you to find silence somewhere.
When abusers deny us our reality, it’s gaslighting. When we enact that denial on ourselves, it’s equal parts survival skill and self-harm. Yet we have the ability to change how we treat ourselves, even if we can't change how others treat us.
a photo-prayer to document and archive the resilience, faith and self love I vowed to maintain. This is me in my magic, my resistance and in my legacy.
Thoughts of suicide come when we run out of options. The more we’re oppressed, the less power we have, which means thoughts of ending our lives might come up a lot. Here are resources and strategies to help you keep fighting for your life without compromising your agency.
I wish I had told my friend to seek out generosity, forgiveness, and understanding in unlikely places. To find people who made him feel safe. To find spaces that loved him as hard as he loved the Movement.
In order to harm ourselves less and care more, we need to look at our relationship with the world around us. The problem isn’t how we’re hurting ourselves, but that we’re hurting ourselves at all.
Becoming sober has allowed me to discover who I really am and has allowed me to fall in love with myself. I still battle with thoughts of drinking because I live at home with my dad, but I know that putting my life in jeopardy and hurting my loved ones is not a risk I'm willing to take.
Ask them what they can offer you besides coping skills, and remember that you’re worth it.
Our denial of our needs (and to be clear, needs, not wants) does not create a more just world. Food, shelter, safety and caring relationships are necessary to all.
I felt something stir up inside me when I was around my Native brothers and sisters. What awoke inside was how much I’ve been running away from myself.
Banner image description: A stylized illustration of hairy brown legs wearing black footwear surrounded by the words “Rest for Resistance” in colors fading from blue on the left to pink on the right. The background is a powder blue bed sheet with yellow marigolds and black squiggles to indicate fabric wrinkles. Art by Frizz Kid.
Landing page image description: Two thin, light-skinned Black women lie on a pink couch together, facing opposite directions. Both are smiling, wearing tank tops and underwear. One person is resting their right hand on their forehead, holding up a yellow-petal rose with their left. Photo by Eli Sleepless.