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    7 Ways to Practice Self-Care During Tough Times, According to Experts

    #Selfcare is trending on social media, and yet, putting that trend into practice is not as easy as posting a picture on Instagram. Our health can easily become last priority when greater things feel more urgent. It might even feel selfish to do a face mask and turn off the news when the world is changing and our communities need us. In fact, Rachel Ricketts, an international thought leader, speaker, healer, and author, uses a totally different term. She said, “I prefer to refer to soul-care, which is the act of caring for ourselves in a soulful, nourishing, healing way, so that we can best show up for the collective. It is an act of communal care, which is the opposite of selfish.” In other words, forget about bubble baths and candles (although those things are still enjoyable!). Really caring for yourself means recharging your energy and prioritizing mental health for not only yourself, but for the betterment of the community.
    Ricketts explained, “The difference is most notably in the intention: am I partaking in an act or behavior solely to serve myself, or am I doing so to serve the community (which of course includes, but is not simply about, you)? Soul-care focuses on those most oppressed and how we can best heal our own hearts, and get to work creating change to dismantle the systems of oppression causing harm.” Whether you call it soul-care or self-care, think of it the same way: prioritize taking care of yourself so that you’re able to fully take care of others. 

    Why is caring for ourselves so important when overcoming social injustice?
    “Unless and until we have faced our own inner shadows, wounded inner child, and race-based traumas, we cannot create effective or sustainable collective change that prioritizes those most oppressed (and when we try to do so, we wind up causing more, not less, harm),” Ricketts said. “Racial justice work is healing work, and the healing work starts with you and it starts within. It is from this space that we create and cultivate critical collective change.”
    Jasmine Marie, founder of black girls breathing who just launched a campaign to make virtual breathwork sessions free for Black womxn, agreed. “I think even for those of us who’ve been immersed in this work beyond just this year, you can feel the shift,” she said. “It’s impossible to keep doing this work without taking care of yourself. I’ve had to relearn what my body, mind, and spirit needs during this time, versus what I needed before. There’s lots of unlearning and learning, so self-care is a must.”
    You know the old saying that you can’t pour from an empty cup, so why do we continue to try? Aside from sharing resources, educating yourself, and doing what you can to make changes in your community (go vote!), prioritizing mental health and protecting your energy is essential for making lasting changes in the world. Here are seven ways we can all care for ourselves during a time when it may feel selfish to do so.
     

    7 ways to practice self-care right now:

    1. Set boundaries
    On a daily basis, Ricketts recommended to, “Acknowledge your privilege, set boundaries, and learn to say no.” Setting boundaries is essential to a healthy life, but it’s a skill that many of us never learn. Sticking to specific limits can help boost self-esteem, force you to routinely check in with your needs, and serve as a reminder to put yourself first. Marie agrees that setting boundaries is crucial. “Create boundaries with how much news you allow into your world on the daily,” she recommended. “Log off. Go on social media breaks. Tune inward and ask yourself what you need.”
    Since emotional boundaries are not as obvious as physical limits like road signs or fences (though wouldn’t that be nice?), they can be hard to enforce. Start by considering what you can tolerate, and then what feels draining or overwhelming in order to set limits. Acting on boundaries might look like turning off the news and taking a social media break two hours before bedtime, or it might look like saying no when a family member asks you for a favor that you know will make too stressed. It also looks like taking responsibility for your own emotions, but not taking responsibility for the emotions of other people. No matter what boundaries look like to you, you’ll be conserving emotional energy for much more important things. 

    2. Move 
    Working out for calorie burn is so last year (or like, last decade?). Instead, work out for mental health, and move for the sake of caring for yourself. Exercise, in general, can boost your mental health and help ease stress, so fit in some kind of movement every day that you look forward to, whether it’s a dancing around your living room or going on a hike. For self-care bonus points, try calming activities that focus on relaxing the mind and slowing the breath, like restorative yoga. Ricketts loves yoga with Dionne Elizabeth and Marie counts long walks as one of her go-to self-care practices. 

    3. Meditate
    There’s a reason that meditation is one of the most talked-about practices in the wellness world—this sh*t is powerful. Meditation is effective for self-care because it takes our focus off of the world around us, and puts it back on ourselves. Taking a breath (literally) re-energizes you so you can bring your best self to everything you do, whether it’s tackling your work day, chasing after kids, or fighting social injustice. Ricketts recommends breathwork sessions with Maryam Ajayi, or you can check out black girl breathing for virtual classes. And if sitting still isn’t your thing? Try one of these ways to meditate that involve movement, instead. 

    4. Rest (no, not just sleeping)
    “Burnout is an epidemic for everyone, but no one more than Black and Indigenous women and femmes (especially queer and trans women and femmes). Learning how to rest is imperative for our mental, spiritual, emotional, and physical well-being,” Ricketts said. “Rest is more than sleep. Rest includes time offline, a break from feeling like we need to do it all or be helpful, turning phones off, prioritizing our peace, sitting in silence, spending time with people who nourish us (and avoiding those who do not), and doing absolutely nothing.”
    Think of yourself like the battery pack on an iPhone. If you just recharge for only small spurts at a time, your battery will always stay in red. In order to get all the way to full-charge, you must regularly turn the iPhone off and give it some time plugged in. Getting six hours of sleep and watching TV while scrolling through Instagram for 30 minutes a day does not count as restoration. Turn off technology, do something enjoyable and creative (like reading or painting), invite your best friend over, and give yourself permission to do less. 

    5. Check in with yourself frequently 
    Taking good care of yourself doesn’t have to mean long digital detoxes, consistent yoga flows, or never saying “yes” when you mean “no” (even though those are all good goals). Self-care can sometimes be as simple as feeling intuitive to your individual needs, and checking in with what you really want.
    We often look for outside validation for just about anything (does anyone else need to know what everyone is ordering before making a decision on which entree they want?). Instead, ask yourself what do I really want, and how do I really feel, so often that it becomes habit. Marie recommended, “Check in with how you feel. Validate internally before seeking external advice on your specific and particular experience. This practice is life-changing and will help you show up in all areas of your life.”

    6. Ask for help
    Remember that self-care is not just a buzzword, it’s health. “Therapy” should not be a dirty word, and we should not need to wait until severe symptoms or intense crisis to ask for help. Instead, think of therapy as an investment in your wellbeing. To find a therapist that’s right for you, click here, or check out online mental health resources like Therapy for Black Girls and Sista Afya.
    Beyond professional help, also make sure to ask your boss, coworkers, family members, and friends for help. It’s a sign of strength, not weakness, to depend on and connect with other people. Marie includes seeking help from other practitioners, having good conversations with friends, and allowing her tribe to support her, as some of her go-to self-care practices she does on a regular basis. 

    7. Seek out resources in a community setting
    If you haven’t gotten the gist already, self-care is not just about yourself; feeling a part of a larger community is crucial for optimal self-care. Even though the global pandemic might make it more difficult to feel community in the sense we’re used to (*sigh* does anyone else surprisingly miss crowds?), online resources are stronger than ever. Seek out resources that not only help you heal and take care of yourself, but make you feel like you’re not alone. 
    For some examples, check out Rickett’s Racial Justice Resources and her Spiritual Activism webinars and workshops, which she said are “rooted in the inner, healing work required for external, collective change.” To hear from more Women of Color on their favorite acts of self-care you can try for yourself, click here. 

    How do you care for yourself that has made the most difference? More

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    Who You Love Has More to Do With Politics Than You Might Think

    When the results came in during the election of 2016, the country collectively learned that nearly 50 percent of white women had cast their votes for a man who bragged about sexual misconduct on tape. All of my fellow white feminist friends were horrified, as was I. But what disturbed me as well, perhaps more, were the number of women who I’d seen posting on social media that their homes were divided: split between Trump and Clinton under the same roof. These were the white women who didn’t vote for Trump, but lived and shared children with someone who did. I couldn’t fathom how a woman could love someone who voted so violently against her and countless others—and for that matter, how could he claim to love her? I started to fear that I, too, could wake up one morning and discover that my intimate partner had the capacity to think, act, and vote against my interests and those of so many others. What I didn’t realize in 2016 was that I was already living it.

    My ex—we’ll call him Mark—was not a Trump voter. But he couldn’t understand why I was depressed after the election, or why I was overreacting to something that, he maintained, would be of no real consequence to anyone. He told me he thought Trump was “a buffoon and an idiot,” and that he wasn’t happy about the results, but as I lay next to him in bed and cried, he told me he didn’t get why I was so emotional. When I emphasized Trump’s numerous sexual assault allegations, something that was very personal to me as a survivor of abuse, he replied, “Well Obama was accused of a lot of things.” It didn’t occur to me to say at the time, but Obama has not been accused of sexual assault, and had one white woman said a fraction about him of what they said about Trump, Obama’s career, his life as we know it, would have been over. But at the time, desperate for comfort, all I asked was for Mark to hug me. He sat uncomfortably for a moment before he said, “I can’t hug you if I don’t know what I’m agreeing to.” We then sat in an icy silence and I stared through the window, feeling stung and embarrassed for having asked in the first place.
    I grew up in a moderate-sized town surrounded by small towns, in the dead-center of flyover country. Many marry straight out of high school or college, have children within a year, and stay either in their hometown, or live within a few hours of it—that is, if one of them doesn’t enter the military first. I don’t say this in a negative way; many of my good friends have followed this path and they’ve been very happy. But I always felt that this created a culture of “not being too picky” when choosing a mate, especially as a liberal, educated, pro-choice, non-religious woman. You find someone who mostly aligns with your personality and activities, and whatever exists outside of that, you accept, because the alternative is to risk being alone. The idea that one would break up with someone because of their politics, I always perceived, was frowned upon. Why do politics have to come into it? You don’t want to be closed-minded. Some disagreement is healthy—it keeps things interesting!

    The idea that one would break up with someone because of their politics, I always perceived, was frowned upon. Why do politics have to come into it? You don’t want to be closed-minded. Some disagreement is healthy—it keeps things interesting!

    Under these criteria, when I was 19, I found my perfect pairing. We met doing regenerative, local farm-to-table work, we were both artists, neither of us listened to country music, he handed me the power tools. These things were all important to me. Once we made our relationship official, our futures became intertwined, and it started to look like I might have that Midwest path.
    Then 2016 happened, which set me off in a new personal direction. I, like many of the white folks around me, had thought on some level that the election of Obama meant the end of large-scale racism in America. I knew that racism still existed, but I had always subscribed to the thinking that it was just a few individuals and had no larger means of existence. Mark shared this belief, but after Trump, only one of us started to adapt our thinking.
    I started to become more outspoken on social media. For a developing activist, social media is the catalyst for finding our voice and discovering new viewpoints to expand our thinking. It was this newfound expression of mine that quickly became a source of arguments in my relationship, although I could never figure out what the actual argument was about. All I knew was that Mark would see something I posted or even something I liked, and within moments, we’d be shouting back and forth to no avail.
    One of these arguments took place in response to the riots that had broken out across the country in the wake of Trump’s election. I was in support; Mark was starkly against.
    “The reason Martin Luther King Jr. made change was because they were never violent. For the sit-ins, they took the abuse, they sat there while people pounded on them, and that was how people saw how awful it was,” he said. “These people need to know that violence alienates the rest of us who would want to help them. When they do stuff like this, it’s all noise and people like me tune it out.”*

    *Editors’ Note: This is an example of a microaggression. The Everygirl Media Group does not condone this type of speech. To educate yourself on microaggressions and how to combat this behavior, click here.

    This became the running theme. Emotion, anger, frustration, ‘acting out’—all of these things caused the movement to fail at what Mark proposed was its single purpose: to get people like him, ‘moderate white America’, on board with Black liberation. He threw MLK and his ‘passive resistance’ in my face at every turn, and I responded by publicly sharing Letter from Birmingham Jail, in which King states, “I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate… who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to justice.” Mark responded by saying I was intentionally trying to hurt him by turning his hero against him, and that I was mis-interpreting MLK due to context. I didn’t know the phrase ‘white fragility’ then, but Mark was textbook.

    The underlying dynamic of our relationship began to shift after about four months of dating, when I left to attend the Women’s March. It was a life-changing experience for me, to be surrounded by people who were also experiencing the devastation I felt after the election. But my elation was short-lived, because by the time our busses left D.C. for Kansas, I was already bracing for another argument at home. Instead, I was met with no words at all, as Mark greeted me with no mention of the trip I had just made. When I nudged him, worried he was quietly simmering grievances that would erupt later on, he remarked that the whole ordeal seemed a bit silly. I asked him what seemed so ‘silly’ about the largest single-day protest in U.S. history. After some back-and-forth, I finally asked what he thought the Women’s March was for. No answer. When I informed him that it was in response to the inauguration of Donald Trump, he simply raised his eyebrows and said he’d had no idea it had anything to do with Trump. His tone was almost accusatory, as if I had intentionally held something back from him. As if the expectation that he would take a moment to look it up while I had been gone for five days was somehow unreasonable.

    His tone was almost accusatory, as if I had intentionally held something back from him. As if the expectation that he would take a moment to look it up while I had been gone for five days was somehow unreasonable.

    And yet, I bought in and started to believe that it had, in fact, been unreasonable. I started to think that if I could just explain things in the right way, if I could bring the answers to him, the fighting between us would stop, and we could actually work together at navigating the world of intersectional activism. He seemed so close to being on the same side that I thought I could give him that final push.
    So I sent him articles, gathered materials to talk about sexism and racism and homophobia and how they all roll themselves up together to form institutional violence and oppression. He wholeheartedly refused to read a word of it, because as he told me, he ‘wasn’t that interested.’ But if this was true, why were we fighting so constantly? And why did the fighting only seem to stop when I finally broke down crying? And why did he seem incapable of expressing genuine sympathy when I was in pain? For that matter, why did talking about it hurt me so much more than it hurt him? Why did I feel like I was treading water while he was blank in the face?
    At the time, I didn’t know about concepts such as ‘gaslighting’ and ‘stonewalling,’ so instead, I accepted Mark’s definitions of what I was experiencing. I kept crying during our arguments because I was simply more fragile than him, and in turn, my argument constructions were inferior to his because they were emotional. He convinced me that while he could always be objective about the things other people had endured, we would forever be un-objective after experiencing them for ourselves. Beyond this, my hours of reading, lecture, discussion, and academic study had no bearing on my credibility in our debates, because to Mark, any social or political issue was fair game to the casual viewer, regardless of the time or work they had dedicated to understanding it. As Mark’s voice became a constant passenger in my head, I struggled to feel conviction about anything at all, until I began to pull away from activist work altogether.
    Mark and I finally broke up just before my college graduation, when I became too exhausted to prop up his version of our relationship. When I finally demanded different treatment, he found another way to flip it around on me: Our issue was simply that I wasn’t strong enough to take his emotional manipulations, and I needed to logically explain to him how to change without causing him discomfort along the way. I told him to pursue therapy, and closed the door for good. I then lived with his voice in my head for two years, during which time I was still too intimidated, too lacking in conviction to find my way back to my voice.

    I pursued therapy for myself in the fall of 2019, where I began to tease my own voice apart from Mark’s. However, change was slow, and I still felt great shame and embarrassment when I dared to engage in activist work. That all changed in the spring of 2020, when the deaths of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor sparked uprisings across the country, and something in me finally cracked. I found enough purpose to push through Mark’s voice and start reading again, finding books about racism and intersectional feminism, which led me to Eloquent Rage by Brittney Cooper. I had never seen such a fearless, honest analysis of feminism, and even though her experiences as a Black woman were different from mine, the truth she spoke hit me in waves with every chapter. She was unafraid to look at her deepest insecurities and challenge them, to confront the very real fear that all feminists have of ending up alone because we dare to demand something more from our men. In her chapter White-Girl Tears, I learned that I was not the only person asking what the hell happened with white women voters in 2016, though the answers she proposed weren’t the ones I had anticipated. She wrote of the Women’s March that meant so much to me, “Watching white women take it to the streets to protest an election outcome that was a result of white women’s powerful voting block felt like an exercise in white-lady tears if I ever saw one.” Reading this was sobering, but it helped me recognize that as a white feminist, if I wanted to create change, I needed to start much closer to home.

    It helped me recognize that as a white feminist, if I wanted to create change, I needed to start much closer to home.

    “[T]he choice of whom to love is political. And if white feminists were honest, they would recognize that their feminism actually does demand that they interrogate the political dimensions of their intimate engagements.” This line, like so many other lines in Cooper’s book, put language to something I didn’t realize I’d been trying to say for years.
    I began to view my relationship with Mark through an entirely different lens. I started to question his motives more deeply, wondering now if he was identifying with a larger power structure which was threatened by the activist movements I was engaging with. Did he truly think that social justice efforts were simply too chaotic, too loud, too disorganized to gain traction? Or was the concept that a movement could attain justice with or without his approval simply a challenge to his sense of superiority and importance? I had my answer when I realized that while Mark claimed to support peaceful protest above all else, when his girlfriend left for five days to participate in the enormously peaceful Women’s March, he couldn’t be bothered to learn why it was happening in the first place. I then realized that no matter what arguments I laid out, what research I conducted, or what efforts I made to help him understand, no message of change or justice would have ever reached him because he did not want to be reached.

    I then realized that no matter what arguments I laid out, what research I conducted, or what efforts I made to help him understand, no message of change or justice would have ever reached him because he did not want to be reached.

    For the first time since our breakup, I have stopped hearing Mark’s voice in the back of my mind. I feel like I finally have the vantage point to see all of the things that had been at play, which were far more than just two people standing in a kitchen at 3am, arguing over my presence on Instagram. Behind both of us were years upon years of socialization and experiences that formed who we were, and he was backed by a system that had been doing this insidious work for generations. His weapon was far more substantial, and he was far more adept at using it. But as I am now listening to Black feminist leaders who have studied this longer and more extensively than I, as I learn about the inner-workings and generational pull of this weapon, I can finally start to neutralize its effects.
    White women with white male partners: We need to have a conversation about the word ‘political,’ what it means, and what we allow the men (or should I say ‘enforcers of the white patriarchy,’ because we do that shit, too) in our lives to tell us it means. We act as if politics are a dressing of topsoil over our lives, disconnected from everything else, something to discuss at dinner. In fact, what I’ve learned is that politics form the very roots that feed everything we are made of. It has taken me some time to recognize that Mark was emotionally abusive, but what is not lost on me is that his abuse was also political. And because he and I came out of a culture that told us we shouldn’t base who we date off of politics, it was the perfect shield for the weapon he brought to the table.

    White women with white male partners: We need to have a conversation about the word ‘political,’ what it means, and what we allow the men in our lives to tell us it means.

    I am changing my constitution allllll the way around. My relationships, from here on out, are to be a sanctuary for me in the sense that they are a safe space, and 100 percent optional. First date topics will include but not be limited to the following: Black Lives Matter, intersectional feminism, abortion, white supremacy, transphobia, religion, who you voted for in 2016, who you voted for in 2020, who you wished you could’ve voted for in 2020, Black reparations, Native American reparations, and whether or not Louis C.K. is redeemable. I refuse to act as if any of these opinions are not critical to agree upon with my future partner. We can disagree about many things—for example, I do enjoy a good dill pickle, and if they find them repulsive, then more for me. But politics and the weapon they wield are no space for compromise, and the best thing that white women could recognize in 2020 is that we no longer need to endure or carry this weapon in exchange for our security.

    I believe that all white women have a Mark, whether it’s a romantic partner, a father, a grandfather, a fellow white woman who parrots the same sentiments in a higher pitch, or the simple voice echoing through our culture and directly into our ears.

    So if we’re really committed to widespread liberation and equality, we need to start looking critically at the results of our alignments. I believe that all white women have a Mark, whether it’s a romantic partner, a father, a grandfather, a fellow white woman who parrots the same sentiments in a higher pitch, or the simple voice echoing through our culture and directly into our ears. They may not actively participate in oppressive systems, but they certainly won’t lift a finger to help take their weight off of our backs, and they will sure as hell judge us for trying. When our collective Marks attach onto our pre-existing insecurities, assuring us that our actions toward positive change are inconsequential, it would do us well to start challenging them at the root. One way to do this is to simply pose the question to one’s self, perhaps late at night once our Marks have gone to sleep beside us: If I break my alignment with him, what does he stand to lose? And when I venture out into a diverse community of revolutionaries, when I bring with me my tool of white privilege and the need for my own liberation, what could we all stand to gain? More

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    5 Things You Use That Are Destroying the Planet

    As a crusader for the earth, you might be sipping your iced matcha latte from a stainless-steel straw, coyly looking over the rim of your sunnies while hashtagging #sustainability. You’ve stopped using plastic straws and bags, and disposable razors are on their way out of your bathroom too—yay! As much as small efforts like that deserve a gold star, sustainability on a whole is about making conscious choices in ALL products that you buy, even the ones that might not seem obviously destructive. Because guess what? Plastic creeps into even the most unsuspecting of our everyday products, significantly increasing our consumption. So, while we should definitely applaud our small wins, true plastic-free living is about taking stock of what we use often and changing up our routines to include more mindful purchasing.
    Here are five things that you use that are destroying the planet, and switches that you can make to replace them.
     
    1. Microbeads in face wash
    Recently outlawed in Canada and the U.S., face washes that have microbeads in them are hugely popular in many countries, used for that gentle, exfoliating goodness our skin needs. As much as we’re all about #selfcare over here, have you ever stopped to think about what those microbeads are made of? You guessed it: plastic.  
    Microbeads are teeny, tiny balls of plastic that swirl away, down our drains and sinks, only to enter into our waterways, destroying our soil, water supply, and marine life. For the literal seconds they are used for, they last an eternity on earth—they never fully break down.
     
    Try this instead:

    Find natural beauty brands that have alternatives to microbeads, make your own exfoliating masks using oats, or invest in a silicone cleansing tool. All of these options are great at sloughing away dead skin while ensuring the planet stays intact. 

    2. Mylar balloons
    While most of us already know that releasing balloons into the air is a pretty terrible thing to do (birds and wild animals often choke on them once they deflate), did you know that Mylar balloons (the big, trendy ones that are often bought for milestone events—think numbers and rings) wreak havoc on the earth even when not released?  
    These balloons never fully degrade, as they are made from synthetic nylon with a metallic coating—basically, a recipe for disaster. Animals, both marine and land, often mistake deflated balloons for food, with sea turtles being particularly vulnerable as they confuse them for jellyfish. 
     
    Try this instead:

    There are tons of beautiful ways to celebrate, including floral wreaths, reeds, paper banners and bunting, leaf confetti, and bubbles. Get creative and binge all the Pinterest content when planning your next event.

    3. Microfiber kitchen cloths
    Popular kitchen cleaning cloths made from microfibers are great at keeping surfaces shiny, but come with a not-so-lustrous impact. These types of cloths (as well as your typical green and yellow kitchen sponge) are made from plastic. Their tiny microplastic fibers shed while in use or while being washed, entering our waterways and polluting our planet in an irreversible way. 
    Even some cloths that claim they’re eco-friendly might have microplastic fibers in them, a common greenwashing move. Microplastics are one of the worst offenders when it comes to ocean pollution, as they’re basically impossible to capture by filtration systems, ending up in the stomachs of marine life, and oftentimes, ourselves too.
     
    Try this instead:
     
    Biodegradable sponge cloths, also known as Swedish Dish Cloths, are lovely, soft cloths that are made from wood pulp (cellulose) making them 100 percent biodegradable and compostable (that too, at home). They can replace up to 17 rolls of paper towels, last anywhere from 6-12 months, and because they’re made from plant fibers, never harbor that nasty kitchen cloth smell, according to Swedish dishcloth brand Ten and Co. They’re also inexpensive, making them a win in every way.

    4. Glitter and sequins
    OK, I know this might burst your bubble, but I’m here to deliver some sad new: glitter and sequins, the sparkly bits of joy in our lives, are also made from plastic. Both materials are notorious for ending up literally everywhere (internally shuddering at craft night gone wrong), so you can imagine the havoc they wreak on our environment.  
    Because these particles are so tiny, they are almost impossible to capture once in our environment, where again, marine life and unsuspecting animals ingest them, as they will never biodegrade. If you’re someone who eats seafood, you might be consuming last year’s NYE party dress without even knowing it.
     
    Try this instead:

    When it comes to wanting to really sparkle in your outfit, consider a luxurious fabric like velvet or silk instead, and accessorize with sparkly jewels. To replace conventional glitter, try a biodegradable option from brands like Universal Soul or Eco Star Dust—these types of glitter are made from plants, not plastic.

    5. Dryer sheets
    A big trend in the sustainability world is the shift away from dryer sheets. Mainstream dryer sheets are made from synthetic polyester, an under-the-radar single-use plastic that is trashed with one use, lingering in our environment for eternity. Not only are they made from wasteful plastic, but they can contain potentially harmful chemicals and hidden fragrances that haven’t yet been fully researched for their health effects. Rolling around in fresh-from-the-dryer bed sheets doesn’t have quite the same appeal anymore, does it?
     
    Try this instead:

    A great alternative to conventional dryer sheets is wool balls. Made from yarn, these balls are multi-use, often lasting years. They take the static out of fabrics, are natural and biodegradable, and you can even add some scent with a few drops of your favorite essential oil. These wool balls also look super cute sitting in a little basket—much better than a giant box of dryer sheets that so doesn’t match your aesthetic. 
     
    Choosing sustainable options over conventional might take some getting used to, but when it comes to the impact mainstream products have on our environment, the alternatives are becoming non-negotiables. With small steps (my motto is always “progress over perfection”) and intentional consuming habits, we can transform into mindful consumers, making our impact responsible and effective.   More

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    The Importance of Mental Health Awareness in the Black Community

    When I was a child, my mom would drop me off at my grandma’s house when she went to work. The entire time she was gone, I would sit at the window and wait, watching the road for headlights signaling her return. Later, family members would tell stories about how easy I was to babysit because I would only sit in the window and cry. They made jokes for years about how sensitive I was, how spoiled and attached. The truth is, I was developing anxiety.While I appeared to just be spoiled or a “mama’s girl,” I was actually sitting there in that window because every time my mom was late coming home, I was convinced she had been arrested or had died. And it was more than just a fleeting thought or worry. I could envision it clearly in my head, and it would replay over and over until she finally returned. I didn’t know it then, but I was experiencing several adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) that were taking hold of my mental well-being and causing these types of thoughts and fears. Unfortunately, like many other Black people and people of color, I wouldn’t obtain the language to describe nor the knowledge to understand this for a very long time.
    There are several unique difficulties that underrepresented groups have to contend with relating to mental illness. The first step to addressing these struggles is reducing the stigma around mental illness in these communities; then, advocating for greater support and inclusion. Let’s begin with key reasons why it’s critical for BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) to address mental health.
     
    1. Adverse childhood experiences
    Adverse childhood experiences, or ACEs, are potentially traumatic experiences and events that can have lasting effects on health and well-being in childhood and/or later in life. ACEs can include exposure in the home to factors such as parental separation/divorce, substance abuse, physical/emotional neglect, mental illness and suicide, incarceration, violence, and psychological, physical, and sexual abuse; but can also include environmental factors such as exposure to violence outside of the home, living in unsafe neighborhoods, homelessness, bullying, discrimination, and experience of income insecurity.
    In a 2018 study of ACEs by state, race, and ethnicity, it was found that nearly half of all children nationally and in most states have experienced at least one ACE. However, Black and Hispanic children and youth in almost all regions of the United States are more likely to experience ACEs than their white and Asian peers. These racial disparities reflect discriminatory policies and biases that systematically disadvantage black and Hispanic children, specifically, leaving them more vulnerable to traumatic experiences in childhood. Then, as they move into adulthood, ACEs are linked to chronic health problems, poverty, depression, suicide, and substance abuse. With 61 percent of Black non-Hispanic children and 51 percent of Hispanic children have experienced at least one ACE, it is imperative that the likely subsequent mental health impact is met with social/community support and treatment.
     
    2. Racism and collective trauma
    Racism itself is its own adverse childhood experience, disproportionately affecting BIPOC. Racism leads to feelings of inferiority, guilt, self-hatred, and helplessness; additionally, racism can be the cause of mental health issues such as anxiety (and related symptoms), depression, psychological distress, and intergenerational racial trauma. Racial trauma describes the physical and emotional response that BIPOC have as a result of being exposed to racism. The emotional responses to racism include fear, confusion, and self-blame; there are also physical symptoms, including headaches, fatigue, and increased heart rate and blood pressure. Black folks are regularly experiencing collective, intergenerational trauma due to a legacy of hate and discrimination that includes slavery, police brutality, and the lynching of Black bodies (both now and then).
    Oftentimes, when we (BIPOC) think about how racism has affected our lives, we are thinking about the racist encounters we have experienced, and how we felt in those moments. What we often forget to consider is how those racist encounters remain in our minds and our bodies, wreaking havoc in ways greater and more dangerous than the encounter alone likely did. Mental health awareness and treatment is imperative to the process of ridding our bodies of the poison and toxicity of racism.
     
    3. Self-perception
    Many factors lead to Black people feeling as if they are “less than” others, including internalized racism and negative self-evaluations. If I had to guess, I would bet this began during slavery, when Black bodies were up for sale at humiliating rates based on perceived fitness, agreeableness, and ability to “break.” Unfortunately, this discounting of Black bodies did not end with slavery.
    Black people are consistently underpaid and/or undervalued in the workplace. And instead of getting better as wages improve in the economy, the wage gap between black and white workers has grown significantly since 2000. And it’s not just about wages; Black people experience disparities in wages, opportunities, and treatment. And when Black people call attention to these disparities, we are often accused of playing the victim or exaggerating or outright lying. It’s no wonder, then, that many Black people struggle with feelings of inadequacy, self-hate, and blame. Left untreated, these feelings can compound into psychological patterns/issues such as anxiety, imposter syndrome, and depression. 
    For BIPOC, addressing mental health is a necessary step to healing—but it’s not that easy. There are also many barriers in place that prevent Black people, specifically, from accessing mental health care.

    4. Stigma
    In the Black community, there is a serious stigma around mental health. Another memory I have from childhood is growing up with an aunt who everyone called crazy. Much later, I learned that she likely suffered from dissociative identity disorder. But those words were never used to describe her. Instead, I heard words such as paranoid, not right, and crazy den a betsy bug. Growing up Black, I learned pretty quickly the things we weren’t supposed to speak about. Right in front of my eyes, there was mental illness, alcoholism, addiction, violence, and substance abuse; yet I knew better than to mention any of it.
     
    5. Black cultural values
    Although there are many merits of the traditional Black church, mental health awareness is not one of them. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I grew up being taught that Jesus could heal any issue I had. If I said I was depressed, I was told to pray. If I was still depressed after praying, well, that was the devil’s doing. And anything that was the devil’s doing was not to be brought up in the presence of God. It was a confusing circle that caused me to never speak up about my depression, not even once it became serious. Black cultural values, while well-intentioned, often lead to these types of inconsistencies.
     
    6. Fear of seeking help
    I recently attended a writing workshop for writers of color. When our cohort completed an exercise on cultural values, we discovered that many of us shared one particular value: an insistence on keeping family issues private. BIPOC tend to value privacy, even at the expense of getting help. This means that an issue in the family stays in the family, at all costs. BIPOC value privacy for a multitude of reasons, including the fear of persecution. When speaking out about an issue at home could put your family at risk of separation, deportation, arrest, etc., you learn right away to keep your mouth shut. While this level of privacy is certainly warranted, it often leaves BIPOC struggling and with nowhere safe to turn.
     
    7. Lack of access to quality care
    According to Mental Health America, Black people have less access to mental health care, due to issues such as insurance coverage, lack of Black care providers, and discrimination in healthcare settings. Even when Black people manage to get past the stigma and actively seek help, we are often met with challenges and denial. For example, Black people are more likely to be diagnosed with schizophrenia and less likely to be diagnosed with mood disorders compared to white people experiencing the same symptoms. Even when Black people can access mental health care, we are often treated poorly and/or not taken seriously. This leads to mistrust of the medical system, which further deters Black people from seeking help.

     
    I am actively working to break down the stigma around mental health and mental illness; and I challenge my Black community to do the same.
    It is not just about placing blame on someone or something else for your issues (which is what I once thought); it is about liberation. Liberating ourselves from our past traumas and our collective traumas. Demanding effective care and access. Fighting for our right to be whole. It was truly empowering when I obtained the language to describe the issues I’d been battling all my life. Once I learned about anxiety, I began to understand myself in a new way. I was able to understand and piece together how my childhood factored into my adult struggles. I was able to identify how slavery continues to impact me now, a Black woman born after its abolishment. And I was able to realize how racism, oppression, trauma, and fear factor into my everyday experience as a Black woman in America.
    In my journey towards liberation, I have found many things that work well for me, and others that don’t. For my anxiety, I utilize a combination of therapy, meditation, mindfulness, and physical movement/awareness. I’ve also found several mental health resources specifically catered to Black people, many of which have been compiled into this Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) Mental Health Resource Guide. My best (non-expert) advice: find what works for you and do it.
    Having a mental illness does not make us weak. It makes us human.
    Acknowledging our struggles does not make us weak. It makes us strong.
    It is human to struggle. It is strong to keep fighting.
    It is human to fear. It is strong to face our fears.
    Human to question.
    Strong to speak up for ourselves.
    Human to hurt.
    Strong to survive.  More

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    The TV Character I’m Basing My Entire Wardrobe Off Of

    As a 24-year-old, it’s been a while since ladies my age have had a true, pop-culture fashion icon. Most of the fictionally fabulous characters we’ve aspired to be have come from decades past—Carrie Bradshaw, Elle Woods, Rachel Green, Raven Baxter (may we never, ever forget that intro look). And when you take a step back and look at their similarities, they all had one thing in common: they wore whatever the hell they wanted.In my book, characters who rise to have a place in the proverbial Fashion Hall of Fame have a certain je ne sais quoi to their looks that make it feel like they took a quick look at their closet, threw things on without thinking much of it, and headed out the door. Of course this isn’t reality, but capturing the essence of effortless effort in eclectic outfits is something that’s inspiring, to say the least. And to my absolute relief, I think that the new icon of our generation is here: Astrid Sloan, played by Lucy Boynton in Netflix’s The Politican.

    Source: Netflix

    Last year, the show’s debut season was a hit straight out of the gate—no surprise considering its star-studded cast and uber-entertaining storyline of golden boy Payton Hobart (played by Ben Platt), who’ll stop at nothing to achieve his dream of becoming the President of the United States, but only after he becomes the president of his Santa Barbara high school.
    The fashion throughout the entire series is stellar without fail—from Georgina Hobart’s all-too-appropriate mumu collection to McAfee Westbrook’s never-ending series of impeccable pantsuits to Skye Leighton’s edgy looks paired with corresponding, colorful makeup. It’s all damn near perfect, and no character is an exception. But from the start, Astrid’s wardrobe made my heart skip a beat and gave me a newfound will to live—and really, how often can that be said?

    Source: Netflix

    Source: Netflix

    In Season 1, when she’s running against Payton for High School President, Astrid’s wardrobe is impeccably reminiscent of a modern Jackie O—full of high-cut blouses adorned with bows and paired with lots of pattern. They master a balance of peppiness and edginess by pairing classic silhouettes and tailoring with trendy accessories, at least one unexpected piece per outfit, and even an occasional faux-hawk. It’s a dream come true for a Californian cool-girl presidential candidate—but Season 2, when the series takes to New York, is when her style really shines. From the second she appears on-screen there (pictured below) her character’s transition is apparent through her edgy looks that have ditched all signs of prep.

    Source: Netflix

    eason 2 is filmed during a cooler season, so Astrid’s wardrobe veers away from the warm, California days she was dressed for in Season 1, and instead gives us the fall wardrobe of dreams: fur coats, texture, deep colors, and lots of leopard. All of her looks are the perfect example of mixing patterns and colors that, if went by the book, wouldn’t necessarily go together. By pairing things like hot pink with a pastel blue and leopard with a bright purple, every single look is interesting and unique—and the eclectic-ness of each is exactly what makes it feel so effortless. By being less cohesive and matchy-matchy, everything simultaneously looks both more fashionable and less planned.

    Source: Netflix

    Most streetwear and high-fashion looks have this same principle in common: they look randomly put together, but somehow cohesive. While Astrid’s wardrobe achieves this, it still feels done in a way that’s completely attainable, if only with a little more fearlessness when dressing. Her accessories are also a statement on their own, and when paired with outfits that are otherwise full of drama, they take them to another level.

    Source: Netflix

    Source: Netflix

    The Politician is set to have a third season, and while I can’t wait to see if, ahem, Payton takes Didi Standish’s offer (no spoilers here), I think I’m even more excited for what Astrid wears when the gang (hopefully) takes Washington. But for now, this fall, I’ll be snatching up a fur, knee-length, leopard coat and some acrylic heart earrings quicker than you can say, “Congratulations, Senator Hobart.”

    Source: Netflix More