Years ago, I was at a leadership training with like-minded people from the community, leaders of other nonprofits and people who engage in social justice work. At this gathering we were having a conversation where I made a comment. Someone I knew, and knew of her work cut me off, disagreed and dismissed what I said in a very abrupt way. Let me tell you, it stung like hell.
The facilitator did nothing. I was hurt and pissed. One of my colleagues asked afterwards if I was okay. I remember asking him if I was wrong to be so upset. He said, “Oh my god, absolutely not!” I remember feeling relieved and validated for my pain when he said that. Thinking back, I question why the hell he didn’t stick up for me or say something when it happened.
Since then in the years that have passed, I happen to see this person frequently. I see her at social gatherings and other leadership meetings in the community. She is very well respected and liked. I have to say and to be honest; every time I see her, I hate her.
The other day we were at the same event. She was sitting across the room from me. I was looking at her and thinking, she probably has no idea how hurt I was from that thing she said. Then I thought, what did she actually say to me? I absolutely remember the feeling, but I found it fascinating that I cannot for the life of me remember the words she said. Yet, I still feel the sting as if it was yesterday.
I have been told wonderful things about this woman, but to me she is the worst. I know, it’s a little silly, but real.
The other day in my class things got very heated. Someone was sharing something that happened to her. From across the room someone else got really mad. “Don’t you call me a bitch,” he said. I didn’t hear the B word being said at all. I wasn’t sure why this man was getting so angry. Typically, I’m good at dealing with everything, even with the more extreme situations.
Every once in a while, something happens that I know not to get involved in. I stood for a moment, waiting. The man got extremely agitated and angry at what he thought was said. He was so angry he could barely contain himself. Everyone got a little bit worried. I wasn’t really sure what was going on. He was yelling at the woman who was talking, but she wasn’t really answering him. She kept saying, “Okay, then. Okay, then.” I could see she was not going to be able to hold it in for too much longer.
Someone went out and called in one of the supervisors. In all the places I work, there are good people who know so much better than I what to do. It has taken me sometime to admit that they know better than me. Thank god I have accepted that. It is really why I can continue to do what I do. I don’t try to get involved in what I should not. It is incredibly important to know your place when working in a community that is different from yours. The supervisor walked in. He didn’t have to do anything. His presence was enough.
The angry student made some very harsh statements and stormed out. The supervisor left right after him. I knew the angry student was being taken care of, because anger like that needs to be held carefully. The room exhaled together.
“What happened?” I asked. “He is mad,” the woman he yelled at said. “Did you tell that story to provoke him?” I asked. I genuinely did not understand what just happened.
“I didn’t hear you call him the ‘B’ word.” I told her, and then added, “I am happy you did not answer him, but why was he so mad?”
Of course, there was a back-story that happened the day before.
She said this, and he did that. He said this, and she did that. Really? The story was trivial and unimportant. But the misunderstanding and the words that where said was what counted.
What was interesting was that she was just sharing the situation. She didn’t say anything bad. He heard what he wanted to hear and not what was being said. This man is new to the program. My students tell me that his demons are big. His trauma is deep. He had been incarcerated for a while and got out not so long ago. He is still in the prison of his past and himself.
“Help him,” I said. “Those of you that did the work, help him.” “Ms.,” one sweet student of mine said, “He needs to help himself. He can’t go stinging everyone thinking his shit don’t stink!”
“You, my friend,” I say gently, “used to be like that. Remember?”
Everyone laughs.
In truth, I have the great privilege of witnessing the hard, almost impossible work my students face. Against all odds they have to find a way to let go of the incredible heavy weight of their life story that holds them down. They do it with grace and strength.
“Forgive him,” I tell the woman. “I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t there. But it sounds to me like you can let it go. Can you give this one to him?” I ask. She thought about it for a moment. She was quiet. Then she said, “You know what, Ms.? I am happy I told the story. I feel better getting it out. Seeing his reaction, I get it. It’s not me.” “Nope,” I said. “It’s not, so let it go, if you can.” She smiles. “I can. I can, Ms.” I know she is on a good path. I lean over and give her a hug.
When class is over, I check to see that my angry man is okay. “He’s not there yet,” the supervisor tells me. “I know,” I say. “He has all of you.” I add, “He will be okay.” “I hope so.” The supervisor tells me. We hug and say no more. We both know, sometimes all of our love isn’t enough.
I get in my car feeling proud of my student who let go of the sting. I pray for the one who needs to let go of his pain.
I think about the woman who I have been angry with for years, and I decide that the next time I see her, I will say hi and actually let go of the feelings I have been holding on to for so long.
What do you need to let go of to be free? Start with one thing. Who knows? The rest might just follow.
Naomi Ackerman is a Mom, activist, writer, performer, and the founder and Executive Director of The Advot (ripple) Project a registered 501(c)3 that uses theatre and the arts to empower youth at risk to live their best life.
