Mindful Justice
Sometimes it just feels like the world is falling apart. Even with a healthy dose of optimism, I am not immune to feelings of hopelessness, and even if I find silver linings in many situations, they can be harder to find in issues I have a connection to. This paradox has become more prominent and more important to remedy in the face of consistent global tragedy over the last year.
Given social media’s prevalence, it has become easier than ever to witness horrors happening at every minute in every part of the world—be it the war against Ukraine, wildfires ravaging British Columbia, or the devastating mass shootings most affecting the US. All of this, on top of recovering from a global health crisis that has pushed the world to every imaginable limit, makes it easy to declare that every person on the planet has been deeply impacted in some way. We are collectively living through trauma that news headlines, with a penchant for solely reporting the negatives, do not help.
And once we ingest the headlines, we are left to fend for ourselves. Forced to discover how to manage and process injustice and other events that can shake the core of human emotion. I found myself near my limits with the overturning of Roe V. Wade earlier in June. For all the tensions mounting before the announcement, I had remained in a state of what might best be classified as denial. The reopening of the case seemed like a plot twist thrown haphazardly into movies to create a moment of sudden shock, but one that the audience ultimately knew would be resolved.
As we know, this has been far from the case.
I still remember where I was when I found out, riding a train back from downtown Toronto with my friends after enjoying an evening under the summer sun filling up on great cuisine. One of my friends pulled out her phone to check her notifications, and looked up at us, eyes wide.
“They just overturned Roe v. Wade,” she whispered with uncharacteristic seriousness. I had misheard her, believing she was talking about how she had to be up early in the morning. I responded by saying that she didn’t sleep much anyway, but after receiving an odd look, my friend repeated herself. I could only respond with a deflated “oh.” It had not truly sunk in, and it would not fully until the next morning.
When morning did come, my emotions swept in strong and fierce. There was the anger that came from knowing every person capable of childbirth’s bodily autonomy was under threat, and there was also immense shock. With everything else causing anxiousness about the state of the world, plundering a right that countless women had spent decades of blood and tears fighting for into perilous waters seemed like the last thing that should have happened.
Scrolling through social media only intensified my feelings. I watched people decry the decision in protests fueled by righteous anger and at the same time saw equally intense reactions of those who felt the opposite with celebrations of relief and joy. The polarizing aspect of this struggle only left me more lost. I felt myself pulled deeper into collective anger and fear. For as we know, Canada and the U.S. are not as different as they first appear, and while it is easy to brush this association away by saying that’s “just America,” the reality is that Canada is not impervious to a complex debate surrounding bodily rights.
The news left me in a turbulent state for the rest of the day. I felt as if it was a slap in the face against the feminists who had fought tirelessly in Canada and the U.S. to secure rights for themselves and generations going forward.
At some point, anger gave way to grief, and even hopelessness. The event highlighted an understanding I had always carried subconsciously but became crucial in that moment: nothing is set in stone. Uncertainty is something that is difficult to become comfortable with, even after going through a crash course in it these last two years.
“Connection can be the antidote to so much: distress, uncertainty, fear. It can even renew a sense of purpose.”
The first thought to arise, one that seems to be at the forefront whenever I learn of an issue, is: what could I do? The answer is not easy to reach, and I think anyone who has felt deeply about any injustice has faced the same challenge. Some of these problems take years and nations to change, and thinking about the complexity of these issues alone makes them seem insurmountable.
At the same time, working on understanding thoughts and feelings through mindfulness has taught me that making a suitable decision requires a clear(er) mind. And it requires processing what I feel.
Sometimes that means simply letting yourself feel your feelings. Resisting and suppressing emotions does not make them go away. Some emotions demand to be felt, and emotions that come from injustice are no different.
Being able to name my emotions has provided insight into what I need to do to deal with them, making weathering the storm easier. Mindfulness has helped me recognize the activity in my mind for what it is: thoughts and feelings that do not define me. It gives me the distance I need to recognize what is important. Stepping back reminds me that the weight of the world does not rest on any one thing or anyone’s shoulders. There is opportunity for more change, and growth. And that gives me hope.
I believe hope is a choice. As one of my favourite authors, Brene Brown says, “we develop hope not during the easy, or comfortable times, but through adversity and discomfort.” It is only when I find myself at a crossroads, unsure of how to take the next step that I can truly reflect and remember what matters to me.
What I found has been equally crucial in navigating complex emotions is community. It can be difficult to determine when to take time to ourselves, and when to reach out to others. There is no right answer. But talking to the people who I care about, and who care about me reminds me that I am not alone. Good, honest phone calls or in-person talks provide something that the pandemic has hampered: connection.
Connection can be the antidote to so much: distress, uncertainty, fear. It can even renew a sense of purpose.
In some ways, perhaps this piece is my answer to that question, one that came from taking the time to accept what is, and think about what can be. When the storm seems to stretch on beyond what the eye can see, when the world tilts off-balance, it is worth finding the space we need to take care of ourselves and reach out to the people who matter. Using a bit of kindness and empathy, together we can navigate difficult circumstances.
Nothing is set in stone, and that is a boon more than it can ever be a curse.
Header by: Ellie Horning
