Loud Mouth Brown Girl

So mom got sick this year. Badly, and I had to step up and go back to work. I don’t and did not mind; it’s been on my mind for years, I just didn’t know where in the world I fit, or where to start looking.

At the church, I was pretty high up, but I was treated like dirt, not just by mom/boss, but by the people who figured I was “Just” instead of as someone who worked hard to help some of the most vulnerable people in the community.

I decided to go back to work because sitting while my mom needed me to step up wasn’t an option, but the thing is, I really thought I’d suck at it.

Which is what has kept me from working in the support industry for the last nine years. When I left the church, my confidence was shot. I really did think I had failed, instead of realizing A) I was against impossible standards set by people who had no concept of poverty and B) I hadn’t failed. I had been redirected.

Don’t get me wrong, there were a lot of beautiful moments inside the church, but they always happened behind closed doors when no onew as around to see what was happening. The big joyful moments were often manufactured around an event designed to show people how great things were.

I remember having the privilege to be present when my friend F received his calling and did his acceptance into the church. He stood tall in front of all his friends and family, and our unhoused guests, whom he had invited to join him on this usually family and friend-only event.

He even invited a Trans woman, which was a step too far; people actually complained about her presence after the event, and some even pulled their funding. Still, we carried on until we went to Pride with a group of Queer and variously disabled youth.

That was what did it; they had us ousted almost a year later.

The fact that I was openly Queer made the people in charge – the board of directors – uncomfortable, because even though Anglican and Lutheran churches claim to be open-minded, the truth is they are deeply conservative Christians with seriously deep right-wing beliefs.

I’ve seen the ministers of these churches yell at and otherwise assault women and get away with it. I’ve seen all kinds of heinous abuses, and so when I left, I did so knowing full well I’d get no support from the folks in my community.

And I didn’t. I got support from the internet, from the world, but not from the people who claimed to love me. Friends died, some were murdered, others took their own lives, but none of us stopped to say, “Hey, are you good?”

Because all of the people in my community were hurting, I was essentially plugging holes until the next dam broke. I was quite literally burned the fuck out, and fully convinced that I would never work in the support world again.

But things are different now. The people I work with work as a team, not a hierarchy. There is a system that rotates people and helps force us to navigate what we can do, with what others are capable of, so you never have to be alone.

I didn’t use to think that providing meals and finding housing was that big of a deal. It was really no skin off my back to make a phone call for someone in need.

But then, when it was my turn, I saw just how important it was that when mom and I put the call out, there were people there who decided to pick up the phone and use their own network to help us.

Now I am back in support, and this time I am again on the frontlines of poverty. Unlike before, however, it wasn’t “Specifically” my job to help people who use drugs.

Now that’s all I do, and I am learning sooo much. It’s one thing to see someone pretend to use drugs on stage or in film and or television. It’s another entirely to supervise people who are actively using drugs in front of you.

Some of the conversations that I have are absolutely eye-opening. One day, we spoke about musical frequency and how when you’re high, your brain reacts differently to music than when you’re not. On another day, we talked about death.

One day, I asked one of the people hanging out if they’d ever thought of getting sober and very quietly, they said: “I just don’t want to.” I realized in that moment that I’ve never asked anyone that before.

In my past life, I used to ask, “Are you ready?” Meaning, “To deal, to heal, to do all the things it takes to get better?”

Sometimes people would say yes, but a lot of times they would say no. I realized in this conversation, had never stopped to ask if people had wanted to get off drugs before.

Inside the church, they teach you that people are forced to live the way they do, that homelessness and poverty are not a choice, but a punishment designed to humble you before God.

I knew that wasn’t true, for a lot of years, but I think I am just starting to be able to talk about the layers of trauma I experienced in the church system. Mainly because I’ve never been able to say the above before.

Now I am surrounded by all kinds of people who come from all over the world, much like in my past life. However, the difference is that there is no judgment in this life.

People I work with don’t hate me because I have more than them, or am different. They like me because I am kind to them, and I do my best to be helpful. While also respecting that sometimes “Helpful” means going the fuck away.

I love my life today. I’m 42 years old, I am the proud daughter of an amazingly cool broad, and I have a great social circle, filled with people who have and continue to choose to love me on a daily basis.

I have a job that feeds my soul and is teaching me far more than I could ever teach you, and I am truly, absolutely grateful to have the space to be grateful for my life today.

Gratitude is a privilege; it’s not something everyone has the space to give. Mainly because what is there to be grateful for when your entire life has been blown to bits by people who call themselves “Children of God”?

Gratitude is not something any entity should just go about expecting out of the people around them. In my old life, I was consistently being reminded that gratitude was the gateway to Heaven. Didn’t matter how good or bad shit was, as long as you had the bare minimum, you were EXPECTED to be grateful.

Not being grateful for scraps was considered a personal moral failure on your part, even though, as you stare at your scraps, the rest of the community stares at a full table; you’re the problem. Absolutely.

I don’t need or want more than others. I want my fair share. I think at the end of the day, that’s all we really want in this world.

I don’t need to be rich or famous. I need to be of service, I need to help, but I need to do so in a way that doesn’t rip at my soul and break me down to the point that I have to check out of the world for ten fucking years, again.

I do need to know that at the end of the day, my work has at the very least, helped someone have a better day.

Now I’m being pulled in many different directions, and I haven’t posted this month’s art feature. That’s a failure on my part, but it needs a bit of work.

I have a lot to do, and I’ll get it all done, but first things first…house cleaning.

Five minutes a day, you got this, baby.

XOXO

Devon J Hall,

The Original Loud Mouth Brown Girl