I have some friends who are fierce. Defenders. Protectors. It’s a beautiful thing to witness, particularly when the battle comes in the form of a mama fighting for her babies (no matter how much taller they are than she is).
I fight quietly. I don’t know if I’m less fierce, but I’m definitely more reserved. I might not speak up in a public space or a large room (or, you know, the internet). I lean more toward peacemaking than battling.
I keep writing and deleting, because every way I attempt to say what I’m thinking, it comes out wrong. I guess where I’m landing is here: I’m probably not the one who gets chosen to speak out for you, voice raised in your defense into the microphone, but I will stand beside you, my hand wrapped around yours or my arm over your shoulder. And the speaker is necessary. And so is the hand holder. And so is the hugger in the audience.
The world (and the work) requires warriors. And it also needs those of us ready to bind up the broken hearts.