In November of 2019, my dad died… To me, he still felt young and with so much life left to live. He had leukemia. But he did not die of leukemia. He died at the hands of the medical-industrial complex. He died because doctors rush to administer poison instead of seeking answers to problems that could be solved otherwise. He came into the hospital for a check-up. He never got to go home again. His skin looked yellow that day and my sister probed the doctor about it, wondering if they should do a blood test to see why. The blood test revealed an infection and it also revealed that the leukemia that had once left his body was back. They wanted to start chemo right away. We were scared. If we didn’t agree, our decision might mean that he would die from leukemia. We had fought the system once before when my Dad decided he never wanted chemo again (they had recommended two or three more tortuous rounds). At the time, the decision had seemed easy. The cancer was gone. Faced with it again we didn’t know what to do. So we fell in line. We said “yes” to the doctors even though we felt it was wrong. The infection my Dad had continued to get worse. The chemo pulsing through his veins destroyed his immune system, as it was supposed to. But then what happens if antibiotics do not kill the infection and the body has no power to fight on its own? The doctors finally had to admit he wasn’t coming back from this. His organs were failing and there was nothing they could do.
Little did I know at the time, November of 2019 would start a period of incredible grief. As my family and I grieved for my father in the midst of the massive amounts of unavoidable work when a person dies, the world began to shut down for a virus… In the beginning, I was in shock. I could see that while there were good intentions, the collateral damage of shutting down the world could be far more detrimental. As the news amped up and utilitarian ethics took hold I hoped and prayed that what was being done for the “good of the people” would not cause irreversible harm.
I started this substack, originally called “Deepening Roots,” after I had been pushed out of my place of employment for my deviance from the approved narrative. I have felt pain from broken relationships before but this was different. It felt like the whole world could reject me without knowing me if they learned one thing about me: that I chose not to get a vaccine. I thought I could write about my journey back to the roots and stay silent about my personal truth and somehow reach the other side. I wanted to belong again, but to what group of people? I couldn’t recognize the group of people I used to feel like I belonged to at the core of my being.
So, instead of writing my way to healing, I succumbed to fear. I stayed silent for fear of further rejection. I lost access to my muse and the wellspring of my words. There were no words to write.
The last several months that I have stayed silent, I have searched for answers. I have wondered if I would ever find the belonging I seek and I have begun to rid my thoughts of the incessant noise, chaos, overwhelm, and divisiveness that pervades our world.
Today, I am a new me, yet one more layer peeled back to reveal the divine wonder who entered this body to live this life. I am me, in-formation. I am healing, whole, and ready to fight. I’m also ready to strip away all ideas of success and live with one goal: to simply be happy.
For most of my life, I’ve felt called to write. And for most of my life, I’ve left the writing up to other, more qualified people. The new me is not waiting for permission. The new me knows that my thoughts are also worthy and speaking my truth may help others who need to hear my words.
So, welcome to my new substack, Life Outside the Box, which can still be found at visioning.substack.com.
Thank you for being here and thank you for subscribing.