Inside Out

38 weeks and 3 days inside and outside of the womb

I saw this tree, which had cracked open and then healed over, a large scar running at least ten feet vertically. I relate to the tree and I can imagine many of you do too. We’re all holding stories of pain right now, some historical, some actively playing out. 

My baby Zinnia has now been outside of me for as long as she was inside of me: 38 weeks and 3 days. That makes a year and 24 weeks and 6 days of Zinnia. I wanted to write about the nature of this time, reflect back on pregnancy and nine months postpartum, and share some sweet photos, but Gaza is drawing my attention and I’m listening. 

My heart has broken so many times in the past few weeks: the genocide in Gaza, the shooting in Maine, the genocide in Gaza, the genocide in Gaza. I say it again and again because the genocide is ongoing, not a one time event. How do we grieve when the breaking is ongoing? Maybe the answer is that we stop what is happening so that we all, Palestinians most importantly, have time and space to assess where we’re at, breathe, and grieve. A ceasefire in Palestine is necessary and just a first step. This website makes it easy to call your local reps: 5calls.org.

I am a white person, I live with privilege, with little real threat to my safety and life each day, and yet I still live in fear: fear of dying, fear of Zinnia or Dan or other family members dying, fear of being caught in a mass shooting. What if I wasn’t white and resourced? What if I lived in Palestine? It’s hard to imagine living not with the fear and threat of violence but actually in the violence. For all of us living with relative safety and privilege, I think it’s the least we can do to speak out against genocide and the other forms of violence of imperialist settler colonial states. If you’re not comfortable speaking out, why not? 

My heart has broken many times since giving birth nine months ago. Birth cracked my heart in two. I remember the first shower I took alone right after her birth. I realized that Zinnia had been there for every shower for the past nine months, her experiencing the joy of the warm water along with me, her kicks telling me how happy she was. My heart broke as I realized that her joy and mine were now separate. As Zinnia grows, the gulf of separation widens. And I heal again and again. I heal when I hold her in the shower and her head nestles into my neck. I heal when I see her smiling at the oak trees outside our bedroom window. 

I’m like that wounded tree, cracking open and healing over again and again. Stretch marks telling a story of love and heartbreak. Love as both the heartbreak and the balm. 

My heart breaks when I imagine spending a night in Gaza, wondering when the next bomb will drop and wondering if it’ll hit us next. I’m holding Zinnia closer and tighter these days. 

Life and death are dancing partners, the space between them as wide as one breath. A perfect thought for the day after Halloween, for this season of honoring our dead. 

“Colonizers write about flowers:” the first line of a poem by Noir Hindi hits me in the gut. I have the privilege to think and write about trees and babies. I have the privilege to pick the last bouquets of the season and dream of the flowers I’ll plant in my garden next year. I also have the privilege of internet connection and a small audience of readers and you can be sure that I’m going to leverage this privilege. Everyone deserves these basic “privileges.”

So! Please think about what you can do individually and what we can do collectively to ensure that all of us are safe from colonial violence, especially our most vulnerable. If you have time to read about flowers and trees, you surely have the time to think about Palestine. First recognize that your tax dollars are being used to fund genocide. Call your reps and ask them to support a ceasefire. Support local gun safety laws. Think about abolition and defunding the police (the police and the military are two tax funded organizations who promise safety and protection but spread violence and only protect the privileged). If you’re thinking about tuning out the noise in favor of peace, please recognize that you have the privilege of peace and your privilege comes at the high cost of colonial violence. 

We have the extreme privilege of being alive. Having given birth recently and getting to spend nearly nine months with this sweet human creature who once lived inside of me, I can tell you how amazing it is to be alive and see life happening. Please, let’s recognize the value of life and advocate for a free Palestine (and while we’re at it, a world free from settler colonial violence). 

Love, Cici