Refusing to Look Away

I'm sitting here this morning in tears. My heart is aching for so many reasons—the hate toward the LGBTQIA+ community, immigrants, and Black and Brown human beings.

As I write this, I know my words will be lost somewhere on the internet and will likely have no impact on anyone. I'm not the most educated when it comes to politics. But I've been on this healing journey to return to wholeness—to find out who I am, who I was before I was indoctrinated by white supremacy, racism, patriarchy, and Christian nationalism… while also healing from the narcissistic emotional and mental abuse from my father.

I'm learning to accept and know my shadow side. To forgive myself for the hate, harm, and hurt I've caused from my blind spots, insecurities, and pain. To forgive me for not trusting my intuition—for sitting in spaces like the evangelical Christian church and listening to Fox News for almost ten years only because I wanted to belong. I wanted someone to blame. I didn't want to think for myself. It was easier to live in my protective little bubble than to think critically, to listen to voices on the margins, and to realize that I was part of the problem.

I live in this place where, because of my privilege, I can close my eyes, turn my head, and go on living a full life where none of this affects me. Yes, financially, it might—but we're in a place now where we're better off than we were five to ten years ago. And yet, it wouldn't take much for us to be on the other side of this. We're not far removed.

And yet—my roots are Hawaiian.

My husband's roots are Mexican.

Yes, we're also Irish and Russian—but we're drawn to, and returning to, our Polynesian and Hispanic heritages.

Our skin is the "right" mix—light enough to belong. Light enough to be accepted. People often ask us, "What are you?" And I love that question—because I love to say Hawaiian, and Mark loves to say Mexican, even though we're both sad, we don't know enough about our cultures or languages. But it's never too late to learn.

The shame can make us feel like fake Hawaiians and Mexicans. I can almost hear the laughter as I write this—from people who don't understand, who might make fun of me for saying it.

As we deconstruct colonization and white supremacy, we're able to return to our roots little by little. So when we see what's happening to the communities we love, our hearts ache.

The only reason we are accepted is because we have enough "white"—we act, dress, and speak in ways that white supremacy accepts.

And so when these communities suffer, we feel the pain too—because we love and care for them. Because we are still part of them, even if, through assimilation, we didn't get to embrace our cultures fully. We are healing ourselves, and we are healing our ancestors—because the more we return, the more it heals them and our future generations.

I want our kids to know what Jesus said:

"I'm telling you the solemn truth: whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me."

And this matters deeply because families are being torn apart. Because the lies being told about immigrants—documented and undocumented—are just that: lies.

And yes, those lies are political. Because everything is political when you are poor, oppressed, or marginalized. For many people, politics isn't just about cheaper eggs or lower gas prices—it's about life and death: safety and fear. Belonging or being erased.

So we remember:

"Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me."

And we refuse to look away.