Share stories that keep your family safe

Those words came through the speakers.

I could feel it. Right there in my belly, rising up into my chest. Bubbling and bubbling. Visceral and deep.

Before I could even think about what I had heard that feeling was rising. Taking hold.

My mind began to race. 

Thoughts pinging like fireworks.

Until one took hold.

“FUCK THAT”

What about all the stories that need to be told that aren’t safe.

The voices from Gaza.

The voices from others in the LGBTQI+ community.

The voices of women with stories that the world need to hear. Needs to shut the hell up and listen to. To be challenged by.

Humans. Stories. Safe or not safe.

The rest of the day I could feel the knowing solidifying.

What had started in my body moved to my mind. The ideas flowing.

But the solid knowing settled deep in my body.

This is what matters.

This is my next step.

This is why I am here.

The voices of the unsafe must be heard.

The stories met with prejudice and discomfort cannot simply be left because they cause people to feel.

Safety… I’m not sure that can be my excuse.