Niko Kirby

Authored by Leanne Alaman of Embodied Contribution

Let me tell you about the time I fought the squirrels for sole ownership of the backyard persimmons. 

At first, the persimmons were barely visible–smooth, green orbs perfectly camouflaged in the leaves. Then one day, they ignited in a flame of orange. I noticed them. And so did the squirrels.

One by one, I began to notice holes in each persimmon as the orange brightened into ripeness. In their acrobatic attempts to eat the hanging fruit, the squirrels knocked partially-eaten persimmons to the ground. They were swarmed with ants or rotten in the sun by the time I noticed them.

My annoyance and anxiety grew with each lost persimmon. I mean, they didn’t even enjoy them. They just let them rot in the sun. ‘Entitled,’ I called them. ‘Ungrateful,’ I called them.

I started chasing them out of the tree when I saw them. I pondered buying a fruit tree net. I was starting to care a lot about persimmons.

I’ve been called entitled and ungrateful in my life. People called me this when I did not reciprocate in the ways they wanted me to. We sometimes call it giving even though we expect something in return.

I was given $20 by a relative once. My only thought was, “well, this doesn’t even help.” I had a long list of necessities I needed to pay for immediately or face consequences.

At that time, I was lost in a labyrinth of trauma and the logistical nightmare of racism, classism, and ableism, to name a few. The tightness in my throat was so dense I felt like I was choking most of the day. I knew I should feel grateful, but I could not think of a single grateful thought.

Worse still, that drop into my ocean of need only served as a reminder of how vast the need was and how unequipped I was to address it. The gift only made me feel sick to my stomach. I do not remember how I responded to the pause that was gently inserted for me to express my gratitude…

Entitled, they called me. Ungrateful, they called me.

We all know what it is like to be tired. Especially now, almost two years into this COVID-19 expansion in the game called life.

What a gift it would be to take the burden of our entitlement off those around us. Especially those weighed down by systems of oppression. When I imagine this collective shift of entitlement, I feel weight roll off my shoulders. It feels easier to breathe.

I asked myself why I felt so entitled to the persimmons.

I have lost a lot since the beginning of COVID-19; My health, my housing, my home, my friends, my colleagues, the woman I was dating, and the person I was when I had those things. I am still sad and reeling from the shifts.

Part of me had had enough. I am tired, it said. I cannot feel this anymore, it said.

The refusal to feel my grief feels like a constriction in my body. It gets hard to breathe. Each subsequent loss of a persimmon ignites the feeling of loss that was already there. I tighten and constrict about each new loss to avoid feeling the reservoir of stagnating grief about my losses. I don’t actually care about persimmons, but I have started plotting and chasing squirrels.

Things get off track when I refuse to feel my feelings. I could feel and release the grief, or I could start a war with an unsuspecting population over a resource that suddenly feels desperately important.

I see the dynamic stretch out behind me, across time and human history.

What if my coworker had been willing to see and appreciate himself for how hard he worked for our client? If he needed to be seen a little more, what if he asked us, his coworkers and supervisor, to see it too? We could have celebrated the determination and love we saw in him together. I think we would have been happy to.

I say to myself, “Leanne, I see how much you have lost. I am so sorry that it feels like you have lost everything. I see how hard you worked for so many years to cultivate that life. I know it feels hard to start over. I see that you miss what you had. I see that you are so very tired. What I like about you is that you never give up. And you have learned to rest along the journey, so I know you can do this. I am here whenever you need to talk or feel sad.”

I curl up in the lap of the kind words and snuggle into a calm, grounded feeling. It is nice to be seen when people like what they see. I can give myself the gift of liking what I see in me.

I fear being seen because I am worried people won’t like what they see. They haven’t always. I haven’t always. But when I tell myself the supportive words I want to hear, being seen feels pretty great.

I have the opportunity to be the audience that gives me a standing ovation or the interviewer who is impressed with my responses. I can give myself the experience of being seen and liked.

For a while now, I have been the only slave driver, rapist, and warlord in my life. I relentlessly drove myself to work harder and longer. When I asked for rest, I lashed myself with shame and judgment. I forced my body to do things she did not want to do and told her she should be grateful for the opportunity. I waged war on those around me who accidentally reminded me of the trauma I would not feel.

But this month, by feeling my feelings, I naturally and easily became less entitled. I became less oppressive. I found greater liberation.

I hope you find it too.

‘Embodied Equity,’ a limited-series guest blog authored by Leanne Alaman focuses on deepening our understanding of justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion (JEDI) by deepening our listening to the teachings of Mother Nature, our wise and humble teacher.

Hi, I’m Leanne! I provide paradigm-shifting equity support to organizational leaders and well-meaning individuals to move past well-meaning into well-doing. There are many ways to build your DEI capacity by working with me.  Learn more here.

Authored by Leanne Alaman of Embodied Contribution

In my garden, there is a strawberry plant.

The strawberries appear, quite magically, like little red, sparkling rubies in the sun. When I notice them sparkling there, I feel a desire to possess them. I look around to make sure no one else has seen them yet. I feel ashamed that I want them for myself. Perhaps my neighbor also feels longing and excitement about ruby red strawberries magically appearing in the sun.

I began to think that I should have asked the plant if I could have them before I hungrily snatched them up. It was a quiet thought in the back of my mind that my hunger refused to entertain. It changed the subject or made sure I “forgot” to ask until I had at least one jeweled prize in my hand.

“It would be silly to ask now,” my hunger taunted.

I’ve watched my own multifaceted response to this question when seeing several glittering jewels I follow on social media. Joyful, multi-patterned clothing, freedom to mix a beard with a ball gown, a fluorescent wig some days– because why the hell not?  My response to their freedom is a combination of profound respect, a bit of awe, and underneath those feelings something else that was hard to admit. A mixture of fear and anger. Thankfully, I’ve worked through the shame enough to admit to, and tend to, what lies beneath.

It takes courage and self-love to talk to that part of me that is afraid. To listen to what is happening inside of me rather than shame it. Because that part of me must be hurting. Hurt people hurt people… Self-hating people hate people… Self-fearing people fear people.

I listened to myself and the truth unfolded. The light of self-expression illuminated a place in me that had been hidden in darkness. A place where I could not — would not — go. The expressive clothes I would buy but never wear; the things I would think but never say. The light illuminated a reality. The rainbow cornucopia of expression that I am was stifled, muted. And my dull tones of grey looked even greyer next to the full-color explosion of a human being who is being true to themselves.

I noticed my own longing for more freedom with new eyes.

These are the options I choose by default when I refuse to take responsibility for what is being illuminated in me. Upon meeting those indigenous people on Turtle Island and Alkebulan (Africa), and having some aspect of their own greyness illuminated, Europeans used these tactics as well.

Instead, what if they had just said, “I want what you have. I want it so badly it hurts in my bones. I think I used to have what you have. I don’t know what it is, or when I had it, or how I lost it. I am angry at you for making me notice. I am enraged with envy and I am scared of you and what you possess. I am scared to ask you to share because if you say no, I will feel like I have lost it all over again. But… Can you share with me?”

How different things could be.

In this dynamic, we can be aggressors or students. We get to choose which skillset we strengthen. We get to live in a world that reflects our choices. Now, it is not always appropriate to ask strangers to educate us. But, we always have the power to learn from those who shine a light on our darkness.

We can notice what is illuminated. We can let ourselves feel our own desire to have what they have and notice what stops us. Once we see what stops us, we can ask for help. We can Google it, read a book, or hire those who teach. We can feel gratitude for these unexpected teachers who teach just by existing. How generous!

So, I took a breath and I asked the plant for a strawberry. Grinning, she said “Of course! That’s why I grew them.”

I don’t remember eating the strawberry. But I do remember the freedom, exhilaration, and power of finally asking the impossible question. I do remember the taste of asking for what I really want.

‘Embodied Equity,’ a limited-series guest blog authored by Leanne Alaman focuses on deepening our understanding of justice, equity, diversity, and inclusion (JEDI) by deepening our listening to the teachings of Mother Nature, our wise and humble teacher.

Hi, I’m Leanne! I provide paradigm-shifting equity support to organizational leaders and well-meaning individuals to move past well-meaning into well-doing. To learn more, visit my website and support my work.