I'm Crying During Acupuncture Again

Turns out it takes about one hour in silence to access my feelings

I'm rarely one for tears outside of laughter, but I do my best crying in acupuncture.

I lie face-up on the table as my acupuncturist gently punctures my skin with tiny needles to the soft lull of spa music. Eucalyptus essential oil fills my nose as my body releases the tension from schlepping my signature lime-green bookbag and the world's weight around New York City.

With each needle placed, my eyes are covered, and the room darkens. For this one hour, I'm alone in the quiet, without screens, and present with my thoughts.

I talk to God during acupuncture. Tears begin streaming down my face as I think about all the love in my life: my family, who use every call, text, and visit as a reminder, and my friends, who show up with the kind of loyalty you'd expect only from people from your bloodline.

But I cry, too, for all the pain we've carried this year—friends mourning loved ones lost and dreams deferred, women facing uncertainty around their reproductive rights, people wondering how they'll pay their bills or find their next meal. Today, I allowed myself to release everything I've been holding since Election Night. The first time Trump won in 2016 was the shock of the unknown. I know what's coming this time, but my fear runs deeper than the president. It's rooted in a lack of shared values.

Values center around our beliefs about right and wrong. I have a checkered past with the word. Growing up in Ohio, I often heard "Midwest Values." The community I grew up in praised hard work, family loyalty, and humble modesty. But if you didn't embody them just right, you felt like an outsider, and in my corner of the Midwest, different felt synonymous with "wrong."

My family had different values. My parents taught their Black daughters, who were growing up in a predominantly white environment, to be assertive and unapologetically confident. I take up space and will never pretend I’m small because I’m not. I’m significant, and I value others in that same way. I never got a lecture on hard work. My parents focused on fostering my dreams while instilling responsibility. They clarified that I can do whatever I want, but they can only take me so far. The work was understanding that it’s my responsibility to get what I want out of this life, but I’ll always have the unwavering support of my family. While my parents value family only second to God, they didn’t preach unwavering loyalty. If I thought something was wrong, I was given a voice in my household. Ask my family about my favorite line, “Do you not understand that, or do you just not like it?” There is a difference! 

I've always wanted a big life filled with bright clothes, a well-designed home, and people with values that resonate with mine. For most of my life, my values clashed with those around me. When I moved to New York City, I thought I'd left that behind—this was supposed to be where I could fully be myself, surrounded by diverse perspectives. For the most part, that's true, but elections remind me that, even in my chosen community, values don't always align, and I'm left unsure how to navigate that.

I cry because I love people who stepped into the voting booth and chose comfort over compassion. Racism, homophobia, xenophobia, women's rights—none of these were deal breakers for them, so long as their families stayed secure. And now I'm left questioning how our relationships survive. How do those prioritizing the collective sit with those choosing comfort at any cost?

I think of communities who feel unseen, unheard, and afraid, sitting alongside those who live with privilege and don't believe we deserve the same. Maybe they're in denial about our country’s casting in the latest season of The Handmaid’s Tale. They sure are being quiet about it.

So, I ask for guidance: how do I respond when they try to comfort me over the devastation they elected to happen? Will I respond? How do I lead with love when every instinct tells me to turn my back?

My ego tells me not to respond. They've brought us to this point. But what does it mean to lead by example, to show others how to value the collective over self-interest?

These questions linger as I lie in the dark, covered in needles, waiting for an answer.

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