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| "Blue Monday" by Annie Lee |
“Are you sure, sweetheart, that you want to be well?” Toni Cade Bambara’s opening line to The Salt Eaters has been used numerous times to explore the reality of whether or not any particular person is ready to do the things they know they need to do, no matter the outcome. “Are you sure” implies that a struggle lies ahead so there must be some semblance of certainty on your part? “To be well” suggests an alternative to sickness, illness, dis-ease, dis/altered-ability. And “sweetheart,” well, that’s a kindness extended in the throes of a difficult decision, often used vernacularly to be diminutive but in this case, is a gentle warmth, such as a hug, a reminder to let you know that you may not know what is ahead but you do know that you won’t walk the path alone.
My mother once chose her version of being well. When I was in middle school, she quit her job after they wouldn't allow her additional time off to attend my induction into the National Junior Honors Society. I remember my mom coming to my award ceremony and crying during and after I received the award. At the time, I thought she was being extra...proud of me. But as I think back over that moment now, I imagine she was also crying because she'd made a major life decision, a(nother) sacrifice of her child. That while she was righteous in her decision-making and departure, much remained unsettled and difficult to make sense of. As a single mother of 3, securing and maintaining a city job was major, so to depart for the sake of wellness and connection to her daughter was monumental.
Last week, I shared with my colleagues my recent resignation from my position as an assistant professor of English at the University of Pittsburgh. It was a decision that I'd contemplated for 3 years. For 3 years, I wondered if I should leave, if I could leave, if I were sure I wanted to be well--because I was not well in this space. To paraphrase a recent reflection on the decision, it takes a great deal of courage to take action after you know what you can't unknow. My decision is a response to the compounding challenges and violent realities I experienced within the Composition program and English department. Be it through my mother or through Bambara, I know that the sacrifice to be well can be difficult. But at the end of the day, I also know that I am certain.
What I underestimated were the ways that accepting that loss and the grief that follow are an unavoidable part of liberation. Toni Cade Bambara was right; it is, indeed, no trifling matter to be well. It takes speaking truth to power, hearing difficult truths, and rejecting the idea that people and academic just change jobs all the time. And when people do change jobs, we need to ask why and commit to the necessary transformative work that follows. (see adrienne maree brown)
I'm still coming into understanding the decision and I am sure that there will be more revelations ahead. After all, I am not alone. In all the uncertainty and ironically surety ahead, I don't think my (academic) work is done. Instead, I want to reimagine what it looks like, who it connects and the communities to which I am accountable, and what that work requires and expects of me. I'm confident that amazing things are ahead! I've been reflecting on a few passages as I process. The most meaningful support for me right now would be joining me in the reflection in whatever ways serve you best.
Jonah 2:1-10 and Psalm 46:10
Alexis Pauline Gumbs’ “The Shape of My Impact”
From Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist: "(They) still had some doubts about the decision (they) had made. But (they were) able to understand one thing: making the decision was only the beginning of things. When someone makes a decision, (they are) really dividing into a strong current that will carry (them) to places (they) had never dreamed of when (they) first made the decision."
From Cole Arthur Riley: What expectations do you have of your community that you yourself have experienced as a burden? How do you contribute to the exhaustion of the world? Who in your life do you resent for resting well? How will you resist envy and join them?
From Audre Lorde: "We are African women and we know, in our blood's telling, the tenderness with which our foremothers held each other."
From Zora Neale Hurston: “If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.”
Lauryn Hill's I Get Out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0HdzTvH8mvw
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