Taking Flight: Growth, Grace, and Social Justice (Offering 9.6)
Small acts of courage, and the grace that helps us grow.
A small act of courage. An unexpected offering of grace. And a shift in how I show up for justice.
(If you’re new to Eclosion: An Artist’s Path to Power and Peace, start at the beginning. Or visit my Memoir Hub for a full table of contents with links.)
Growth, Grace, and Social Justice
We were fortunate to have an incredible outdoor preschool on our block. Over summer break, Seren’s preschool teacher shared that a new family had moved in next door to her. They had two young children, and the mom was an artist, so one day, Seren and I picked a big bunch of fresh kale from our garden and went to meet the neighbors.
Darishma opened the door and I introduced myself and Seren, welcomed her to the neighborhood, and offered her the kale. I tried to hide my surprise that she wasn’t white. We live in a pretty white area, and my ingrained expectations just assumed another white family had moved in. I was surprised further at how welcoming she was, more so than any other stranger whose door I’d knocked on just to say hi. She invited us right into her home to have tea and meet her children. As artist moms, we had a lot to talk about.
That fall, Darishma’s son attended preschool with Seren and we quickly became friends. One afternoon Seren and I, along with another mom and child, went to Darishma’s house after school to have tea while the kids played. We were talking about elementary schools, and I asked if Darishma’s children would be going to our neighborhood school. Darishma shared that she wasn’t sure about the school because the son of one of her friends, a kid who was not white, had attended the school and was treated horribly. His teacher regularly put him in time-outs where he wasn’t even allowed to read books, among other things, for the slightest transgressions. It sounded blatantly racist.
I’d heard other negative reports about the school, but nothing to this degree. A new principal, who prioritized social justice, had recently started at the school and I was hopeful things might change. I could also see that even with the new principal, Darishma was concerned, and rightly so, that her children would be targeted.
Darishma mentioned that she was thinking about going to talk with the new principal. I felt called to say something, to help in some way, but my stomach was in knots. What if I said the wrong thing? I looked around at my two friends. I was the only white person in the room, with two powerful, charismatic women that I looked up to. It was an opportunity to take a risk and connect on a deeper level. Even though my body flushed hot with fear and uncertainty, I was more afraid of staying silent, so I spoke up. I offered to go with her to talk to the principal, as her backup. Such a small thing that felt huge in the moment.
I don’t remember the rest of that conversation—just that one moment is highlighted in my memory. Later, Darishma texted me, thanking me for my support and calling me an ally. She didn’t have to reach out, but she did. She allowed me to see how much my offer meant to her; how this small act of support could impact others and shift how I showed up in the world. It was one of those simple life moments that created a monumental shift in my perspective.
Often, those of us who care deeply about justice shut people down for not being as far along on the spectrum of unlearning and relearning. We forget that it is a journey for all of us— that not so long ago, we may have been in the very place we’re criticizing now. As author and activist Ijeoma Oluo so beautifully articulates: “We aren’t very good at getting people from A to Z, but we are really good at discarding people for being at G instead of at X. But how do we get someone who is going to their first protest to not only come to more, but to use that experience as the beginning of a journey to a deeper understanding of the issue they are protesting and how they can be a part of systemic change? Right now, while it’s an emergency (because it will always be an emergency), how are we planting seeds of empowerment and revolution in every person who is just now beginning to see that maybe these systems don’t have their best interests at heart?” [1]
Darishma exemplified these words when she offered me grace for where I was at in my own social justice journey. Then she took it a step further and let me know she saw my effort and appreciated it.
Often, I still don’t know what to say or how to act. I have so much to learn and unlearn, and I make mistakes. But I keep trying. I keep showing up in my personal and professional life. I keep expanding my knowledge and pushing myself to do or say things that feel right, even when I am scared and uncomfortable. Even if it means I upset some people, I must stay true to myself. I must stand up for what I believe in, even as my own beliefs shift and expand. At the same time, I do my best to offer grace for where others are on this journey, welcoming them along with love and kindness—just as Darishma did for me.
This is a piece of what it means to be an artist in this world. To show up. To be seen. To take risks. These small actions are a way of creating, and of creating change.
The surprising thing is how good I feel about myself when I take such a stand, or offer such grace, and how it keeps resulting in deeper connections—with myself and with others—and stronger community.
Where in your life are you being called to show up with courage—or to offer grace, to yourself or someone else?
