You Choose How to Meet the Moment

Written By Stacy Carleton

I have been invited to many rallies and protests this year.

I have attended zero.

Several years ago, I did things very differently. 

I joined a public action at least every few weeks, often with my baby and toddler in tow.

I regularly pulsed with fear and outrage.

I believed that putting my (white and privileged) body in the streets was the most valuable way to show how much I cared.

I spent many hours writing clever slogans on placards with a giant Sharpie and taking public transit to join thousands of others marching and chanting downtown.

Image of a crowd of people on a city street in front of tall buildings and trees. A young man stands on a sculpture, speaking to the crowd. In the center of the frame is a protest sign with the words "Spoiler Alert: Love Wins."

Still my all-time favorite protest poster, at a 2018 rally in Portland

Now, in the first half of 2025, I have been asked to participate in advocacy events at our state capitol and demonstrations all over Portland, and I have said no every time.

My refusal has been laced with defensiveness and insecurity.

I felt implicit pressure from others who expressed the importance of a critical mass coming together in public. 

“We need at least ten, or fifteen, percent of the people out in the streets to create change,” one activist said at a recent meeting I attended.

Someone else emphasized how important it is for the privileged members of society to show up when it is not safe for marginalized groups to do so.

I wasn’t sure which of those categories I fit into anymore.

For most of my life, there was no question of my advantages: I am white, my parents are still married, my childhood homes were massive and impeccably decorated, my college education was paid for, I consistently made the honor roll and was an accomplished athlete and dancer.

What is also true: I’d overworked to earn my worth for most of my life and used many destructive behaviors to numb my deep feelings and intuitive nature. I struggled with mysterious and invisible symptoms like GI pain and headaches. The cracks in my family, created by addiction and intergenerational trauma, only deepened with time.

Eventually, I sustained a traumatic brain injury related to long Covid and chronic stress, and lived in severe illness for several years afterward.

I lost the privileges of an able body and reliable health.

In my efforts to be an engaged citizen, I used to match the fear or outrage of others because, as I learned in my childhood, aligning to these nervous system states felt like safety to me. I absorbed and embodied the hypervigilant and adrenalized energy I encountered.

At the time, it also felt like power.

Jamila Reddy’s essay Finding My Role in the Revolution articulates the evolving nature of our civic engagement and the types of real power available to us as represented in the social change map by Deepa Iyer.

While studying this model, I saw that the way I used to engage in activism was perpetuating the oppressive hierarchies I claimed to be fighting.

In my earlier perception, the most vocal and public frontline responders and disrupters were doing the most important work.

Now, I see how many choices we have, how many ways we can meet the moment.

We were never meant to stay in one role for life. We might occupy one or two roles for a season, then feel called to try something else.

Lately, I identify as a storyteller, healer, and caregiver. 

My body, mind, heart, and spirit have been telling me that mass demonstrations are not the place for me anymore. They have been telling me that my work is to now support those people out in the streets and at the capitol. 

And that this work is just as important and necessary.

Now that I live in my body with more regular presence, I am more aware of my capacity, and I am confident that our capacity and our caring are not the same thing.

Now I am deeply aware that the stimulation and intensity of large public gatherings, even when they are joyous, are not for me. 

And capacity itself is a nuanced concept: I might have less capacity for loud events, but I have more capacity for other things: the intimacy of holding grief in community, the necessity of cultivating tenderness within our resilience, the paradox of constant change.

Inspired by Reddy’s and Iyer’s work, I now regularly ask:

  • What can I offer with my full energy?

  • What is the impact of playing these roles?

  • What is the physical, energetic, emotional and spiritual cost of showing up in a particular way?

To which I add:

  • How do I choose to meet this moment?

  • How do I know it is the right choice for me, right now?

I invite you to explore these questions with me at my upcoming community sessions.

JULY SESSIONS:

AUGUST HIATUS:

I’m taking time off in August for travel and respite. I look forward to reconnecting with you in the fall!

As always, please contact me with any questions, suggestions, or ideas.

When we rest together, we heal and we thrive,

Stacy

Stacy Carleton
Next

Learning To Practice Anywhere