This season I’m learning that my peacemaking practice must come from a place of rest. Rest in my identity: mama, partner, daughter (earthbound and heaven), sister, friend, therapist, social worker, woman of color; rest in my heritage: Latina, Sicilian, mixed race, bilingual, multicultural; rest in my body: physically connecting to stress/distress/pain/space; rest in my spirit: breathing, being outside, praying, singing, expressing creativity through art and time with horses. I am learning that peace directly correlates to how I actively choose to receive the love, safety, comfort and holding of Spirit. For me, the trenches are the areas of my life and story that stir up discomfort, a surrendering of control and power, and require me to just be. Practically, day-to-day that looks like loving, learning, guiding, and growing with my toddler. The trenches of being a parent are molding and rocking my world! All the things that activate and trigger my little self is where I’m being lead to do work and find rest so I can intentionally cultivate intergenerational belonging… a place where we see each other and love each other for who we are and who we are growing to be. This is bringing fatigueeee and lots of hope for the generations to come. What often is anxiety inducing is a voice that creeps in and speaks patterns of trauma and pain; a voice that adheres to perfectionism and conforms to the pressures of social constructions/privilege for mamas.

Professionally, my trenches for peacemaking involve trauma and palliative care work. I have the sacred privilege of coming alongside community in vulnerable moments to bear witness and be in their/our pain, powerlessness, hopelessness and distress. What grows hope for me is laughing, crying, breathing, dancing, singing, and humming through it. The hope is found in experiencing rest, safety and healing in community that uplifts, empowers and reclaims space and place. What is a real anxiety for me within this work is the vicarious trauma— knowing that entering into pain inherently means that you will feel it and live a version of it… experience the oppression, violence, and death. It’s a heaviness that can be hard to shake, particularly when I am unaware of what I already carry from my own journey. I’m very fortunate to have community that holds this work with me and reminds me that we need one another to repair, connect and thrive.