Have you ever had one of those weeks where your body loudly reminds you that you're carrying too much?
That happened to me this week. I woke up in the middle of the night with an asthma attack. I lost track of time because of dissociation. I missed my massage appointment last week, and then my chronic pain lingered until I was finally able to go this week. The pressure of everything, including what is happening politically, personally, and economically, settled into my body like a roaring fire I could not tame.
So often, those of us living on the margins are told to push through, hustle harder, measure success by productivity, and respond to systemic collapse with personal overfunctioning. Our bodies were never built to navigate all of this alone. We should not have to, and we do not need to "should" on ourselves.
When the “Big Beautiful Bill” passed the House this week, I felt a wave of heartbreak, anger, and fear for what it could mean for families like mine. The bill proposes deep cuts to Medicaid, Medicare, SNAP, and trans healthcare (amongst other things), which are life-saving supports for so many, including my family. If nothing changes, we could lose our access to both healthcare and food.
Still, when I allowed myself to pause and care for my body, I began to notice moments of joy that had been quietly waiting for me.
Because of mutual aid, I was able to take my family out for a meal to celebrate the end of the school year. We went to a local place with food stalls run by immigrant families and sat together on a covered patio while everyone chose their favorite meals. One of my kids had pad thai. Another had pizza. My spouse had barbecue. One of my kids and I had tacos, and I took a quiet moment to look around and remember how beautiful it is to see everyone fed.
Afterward, we got ice cream at a place we have loved since the kids were little. We sat in the sun and laughed. I did not have to rush anyone or count quarters, and it was a gift and a luxury.
That experience of shared joy carried into the week in small, sustaining ways. Thanks to friends, I was able to get two months of my necessary medications and a Costco membership so we can stock up on household basics. These are things that are either not covered by food stamps, like toilet paper and laundry detergent, or are simply more affordable and accessible at Costco, such as snacks we actually enjoy and certain fresh foods. The food pantry gave us ingredients for a gluten-free vegetable pot pie, and the whole house smelled like comfort while it baked.
I even got my hair cut and colored, something I do fairly often, but this time it felt especially affirming. It came out looking like me, and I have been getting compliments all week.
One night, I slept for eleven hours, which is something I have not done in years. The combination of pain relief from my massage and stress relief after having a few essentials covered helped my body feel safe enough to rest deeply. That sleep turned into sunshine walks with one of my teens. Somewhere along the sidewalk, I decided to start smiling at everyone we passed, which felt like scattering seeds of kindness without needing to know what might take root or bloom.
Fear and grief are still here, along with hard things I cannot solve or sweep aside. Yet, I also notice the good we have nurtured over time, the care we have extended, and the relationships we have built with intentionality. Community care softens what systems deny. Perhaps success might be better measured by connection than by capital.
Right now, I am reading Welcome to the Hyunam-Dong Bookshop, and one of the characters suggests that success could mean being surrounded by people who care about you and having the capacity to care back. I keep thinking about that. Even though we are living in poverty, we are rich in mutual aid, friendship, love, and support.
If any part of this resonates with you, especially if you are navigating intersectionality, disability, grief, or fear about what comes next, please know this is for you:
You are not doing anything wrong.
You do not have to force yourself to feel better.
You are allowed to take as much time as you need.
There is no moral value in pushing through pain.
You carry goodness within you simply because you exist, and nothing can take that away.
Let's take the pressure off. Let's be soft with ourselves. Let's connect with those who make us feel seen and say no to every "should" that tries to steal our breath.
Even when the sky feels heavy and the future uncertain, there are still moments of beauty, and you are deeply worthy of care and connection.
I hope you have more days like this! The dinner out to celebrate sounds fabulous.