January 14, 2024

Notes from Author: This is a previous reflection I wrote in June of 2022 and published on my personal intagram account. It seemed fitting for the current times. The fact that our world doesn’t seem to be changing for the better but instead it is for the worst, that systems of oppression continue to find new ways, new lows to rear their ugly head. it is easy for us to experience compassion fatigue, burnout and even begin to feel numb. I am trying to learn how to use my rest and joy as acts of resistance while simultaneously refusing to become familiar with tragedy, with oppression. In the words of Tonni Morrison, “I insist on being shocked. I’m never going to become immune. I think that’s the kind of failure that you see so much of it that you die inside. I want to be surprised and shocked every time…” and in those of Audre Lorde, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” My quest is to do my best to embody both. I hope you enjoy reading the reflection below.

Three years of an ongoing pandemic, another virus (monkey pox) emerging, multiple systems and structures of oppression seemingly gaining more power. The world seems to be falling apart. We’re collectively grieving and hurting physically and mentally. The world seems to be on the cusp of imploding.

A lot of us are experiencing compassion fatigue, numbness and burnout. As an empath, it can sometimes feel overwhelming when everything feels like a burden to carry. Even when my own personal life seems to be crumbling, I am telling myself “you should have it all figured out, you are doing something wrong.” I don’t do well with change and uncertainty.

When joy shows itself, I find myself squirming in discomfort, not being able to embrace it because “I shouldn’t be joyful when all seems to be failing and falling apart.” Especially as a black muslim woman, I’ve always worn the qualities of “strong, resilient, and hardworking” as a badge of honor which always came at the expense of my humanity. Enduring hardships and the notion that “when the going gets tough, the tough gets going” is a woven part of our DNA that our ancestors have passed on to us.

Lately, I’m starting to question if that is necessary at all. That despite sacrifice and martyrdom being placed on us as our destiny, we also crave ease, softness, joy and love that we're never afforded. I’m learning now that sometimes it’s okay to put down the load and allow myself joy. It’s okay to find little corners of joy even when everything around me seems to be aflame. That rest and joy are in themselves acts of resistance because before I can pour into others, I must first pour into myself.

So here’s my little corner of joy from yesterday** - a love story of a mother and her daughters finding joy in reminiscing and revisiting their childhood games. A time when we were carefree, jumping, releasing our worries mid air and feeling the breeze in our faces as we land. In this moment nothing mattered, the world is silent and all you hear is the echo of our laugher. I hope you too choose to embrace rest and joyful moments in your life without discomfort, no matter how minuscule they may seem.

With love, Ibtisam

** Referring to a moment I captured in a video (not shown here) of my mom, my sister and I playing a game of ampe at our neighborhood park. As far as I know ampe originated from Ghana but it is also played in other African countries though the versions/rules may differ depending on the country.