around this time last year, i read june jordan’s “on call: political essays,” which was deeply resonant and impactful for me as i considered my choices about which relationships and political formations i wanted to pour my time and energy into. in it, jordan writes, “the ultimate connection cannot be the enemy. the ultimate connection must be the need that we find between us. it is not only who you are, in other words, but what we can do for each other that will determine the connection.” i’ve continued to sit with this lesson, especially as i’m navigating changes in my relationships and changes in myself. i’ve expanded my capacity for intimacy and vulnerability over the past few years, but i still find myself struggling with trust and trying to find the perfect set of ingredients that will make trusting more possible for me.
alignment is one of those ingredients. and i know now that alignment can mean so many things: shared need, shared values, shared purpose, shared politics, shared experiences, a shared vision for the future. alignment can be a foundation, something like: we’ve come together because we’re aligned around these values or this vision, and we can build and keep each other accountable from here. but it also has to be a practice: we know we don’t quite know everything, but we have a shared vision or purpose, and we’ll keep trying and communicating and messing up and trying again as we learn to come into alignment with each other.
but the devil is in the details, and this is where a shared vision often falls apart. we can all want the same things – like shared living and shared care – but where and how and who does what? and what happens when you find out in the process that there are more, different, even conflicting, needs than you accounted for? i had a vision with friends several years ago as i was deciding where to move: we all wanted to live amongst Black queer and trans radicals and support each other through the rise of fascism. at some point, i made a spreadsheet to get clear about the details: where could we go? what could we afford? what were those areas like? what was accessible? but i was the only parent in the group, so i also had to consider things the others didn’t have to think about: what schools are available? what kinds of activities were available for young queer and trans kids? will there be access to gender affirming care? as someone who grew up in new york city, i never learned to drive, and so in the process i recognized that i felt very anxious about starting a life in a suburban or rural area. i started taking driving lessons, but i wondered: do i really want a life where i need to rely on a car every day? and what kind of work will be available to me in a suburban or rural area?
how many big leaps am i able to take at once?
without getting into all the conversations that happened, and all the delays and changes along the way, i realized that only i was willing to account for the needs of my child; i made a decision. i moved to philly, a place i’d been a thousand times that was close to places that i considered home and where my family had roots.
in many ways, this group had shared politics and shared values, but we didn’t necessarily practice our values in the same way. when i’ve reflected back on my experiences in relationships and collectives i’d been a part, i’ve come to understand that the different ways we practice shared values tends to be the place where we experience conflict. what i’ve learned from this is to be specific. yes, we might all call ourselves prison abolitionists, but what does that mean to you? what does it look like in your daily life? who are you specifically considering as you practice abolition? where might your politic, and practice, need to grow?
this experience also taught me that shared politics don’t hold us together as well as shared need: when we really need each other to survive, we find a way to make things work. we have to talk, and we keep showing up for each other even when we’re angry. we learn together, we accept what’s different about each other, and we’ll work to move closer to alignment in values over time.
what’s difficult about where i’m sitting is that i’ve found that many people who have the theory don’t quite have the practice down, and many people who have the practice don’t quite have the theory, and yes, i can study theory and refine practice at the level i want on my own, but god that isn’t nearly as much fun.
i’m committed to my relationships, and i want to sustain them, and one of the questions i’ve been sitting with is: how do i sustain them for the long term? i say this as someone who does have many long-term relationships: i’m an auntie for the babies of two friends from high school, i still communicate with several former partners on a regular or semi regular basis, i wish my best friend from middle school a happy birthday every year, and not long ago i reviewed a cover letter for my best friend from third grade. not having a stable sense of family has meant that i hold my friends close as family. i have many long-lasting relationships in my life. i don’t struggle with keeping relationships long term; where i struggle is with allowing my relationships to change. the ones that have changed have sort of changed organically, without a conversation, and maybe that’s how it’s supposed to happen, and maybe i’m overthinking it. but what do you do when you know a change is needed but you just don’t want things to change?
i desire constancy. and i know, i know, like octavia butler told us, the only constant is change.
there’s a chapter in prentis hemphill’s book, what it takes to heal, called “remapping relationships.” they write, “ruptures should inform the shape of relationships going forward. we should relate differently based on what’s happened, now that we’ve learned something about who the other actually is and who we are. if not, we risk falling into the same patterns that didn’t work before.” i know this to be true. believing in transformative justice doesn’t mean allowing people to walk all over you or abuse you. it doesn’t mean that you have to do repair work with everyone, regardless of the power dynamics. quite the opposite, it means practicing discernment and practicing good boundary setting.
it’s only in recent years that i’ve become more comfortable with the practice of ending relationships and holding firm boundaries. there’s always a doorway where someone i have loved can reenter my life, but i am no longer waiting at that doorway, and i am no longer chasing repair. yes, people change, but not always on my timeline or in the direction i want. bell hooks’ writing helped me with the practice of boundary setting, especially starting with my mother. in all about love, hooks writes, “Practicing compassion enabled me to understand why she might have acted as she did and to forgive her. Forgiving means that I am able to see her as a member of my community still, one who has a place in my heart should she wish to claim it.” i can forgive the past, and there are still things i need to stay in connection, to stay in relationship. without those needs met, i can still love you, from way over here.
i talked to a friend recently about needing change in one of my relationships, and beginning to doubt that the friend i love has the will or ability to change in the ways i need. the repeat ruptures are wearing on my capacity to stay in connection. but i love my friend so much and i don’t want to lose the connection. my friend mentioned a concept that applies to buildings, but can also apply to relationships: retrofitting. it sounds similar to what prentis hemphill was writing about when they talked about remapping our relationships. with what we know now, and with what has happened, how does the relationship need to change?
holding on too tightly to what once was is a recipe for disaster; it’s avoidance, it’s denial, it’s an idealizing that doesn’t want to see or believe truth. holding on won’t save my relationships. when i accept change as the only constant, i can tap into the hope and curiosity for what’s possible for the relationship moving forward.
and yes, i’ll need to tend to grief, too.
relearning relationships 