Through rest, we write new stories
“Let go of the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet” Joy Harjo
“Rest is resistance” Tricia Hersey
Before our group session that afternoon, Zainab approached me shyly, and with her limited English, said “This reminds me of home… beautiful. The mountains are like home”. Like many of the women in the group, she came to the US after the fall of Kabul to the Taliban in 2021. Among all the things she missed, seeing the Sandias, pink, in Albuquerque’s summer afternoon, gave her a glimpse of the home she lost and was trying to rebuild. Like Zainab, the mountains reminded me of home. They had been a haven to me after arriving from Nicaragua in 2019, when the government´s brutal persecution of human rights activists led me to flee my home. I missed Momotombo, but the Sandias were the closest I had to my beloved volcanoes.
All women in the circle spoke English as a second or third language. We got together every two weeks to make space for rest amid the worries of the refugee life. Our bodies had complex stories of trauma, exhaustion, happiness, and hope. Some in the group have had to tell their forced migration stories multiple times, in a chronological, supposedly objective manner to make them “credible” to the US legal system. Some were tired of the barriers to care and rights they faced every day, or the invasive questions asked by well-intentioned Americans that perpetuated racist stereotypes. When this is everyday life, how do we write other stories? Stories that center our smiles, creativity and humanity?
After arriving in the US, this desire to write a different story led me to my body, looking for a way to understand my trauma and resilience. In 2021, I became a yoga teacher with the hope of sharing with my community some practices that allowed me to access inner wisdom and feel grounded when nothing seemed stable.
As we breathe together in our yoga class, I ask them what they would prefer to do today. Most say: “I want to rest”. So, we find our own variation of savasana. Rest is deeply personal, powerful, and allows us to write new stories that highlight other aspects of the refugee life. My students share these stories every day by having the courage to show up to English classes, look for jobs, and learn how to drive; or by sharing their homemade treats after class, in an expression of gratitude and care for those among them who may not have eaten that day. And by choosing to take time to pause, grieve and rest. Rest is revolutionary. A well-rested community is a community that can transform pain into strength to work for peace and justice.
Something I´m sure they will continue to do even when systems and policies attempt to silence our voices and erase our stories.