This is why community is so important for sustainable change-making
One of the most important lessons I’ve learned in my 39 years alive is that success doesn’t truly feel like success unless we celebrate it with others.
Similarly, joy doesn’t truly feel like joy until we share it with others. Purpose doesn’t truly feel like purpose unless it’s in service of others. And healing doesn’t truly feel like healing unless it’s witnessed by others.
We need each other. But we act like we don’t.
We have been conditioned by white supremacist capitalist patriarchy to go it alone, to be lone wolves, and embody other epithets of rugged individualism. We have been taught that to win alone, to win without help, and to win at all costs are the true marks of success as human beings.
But what we haven’t been taught is that this type of success often leaves us feeling hollow, lonely, and disconnected from ourselves and one another.
We need each other. We have to stop acting like we don’t.
On the night I found out Me and White Supremacy had become a NYT bestseller, I was in Chicago. It was February 2020 (before a global pandemic was announced), and I was on my US book tour.
My tour had me travelling to 11 US cities in the space of about 13 days, completely alone. As I had not travelled around a lot of the States, it felt like a thrilling and exciting adventure. But it was also quite lonely. I missed my family and felt like I was getting to have all of these amazing new experiences, but no one to share them with.
But Chicago was different. Two of my dearest friends were going to meet me there - Omkari Williams and Leesa Renée Hall.
Omkari and Leesa are two incredible women and thought leaders whom I have had the immense pleasure of getting to build intentional friendships with over many years now. They were coming to see me speak at the American Writers’ Museum that night, and then we were going to dinner afterwards.
What we didn’t know is that that night, on the way to the museum, we would find out that my book had debuted on the New York Times bestsellers list. And I cannot tell you how, even to this day, I am so grateful that I was with my people when I got the best news a writer can ever dream of receiving.
You see, I’d spent a month alone online carrying out the #MeAndWhiteSupremacy Instagram challenge. And then months alone in coffee shops writing the Me and White Supremacy Workbook. And then more months alone in the library writing the Me and White Supremacy published book.
Except, I wasn’t alone.
Even as I sat each day writing, holding space for discussions, researching, thinking, and trying to hit daily word count deadlines, I was not alone.
I had the support of my husband who made sure I had the space, time, and encouragement I needed to keep showing up for the work every day.
I had the support of my parents whose love reminded me that it was my responsibility to show up as the woman they raised me to be.
And I had the support of my friends who held space for me during the hurting days, reminded me who I am during the challenging days, made me laugh during the lighter days, and celebrated me every step of the way.
Yes, I wrote the book alone. Yes, I did the inner healing work alone, And yes, the title of ‘NYT bestselling author of Me and White Supremacy’ belongs to me alone.
But no, I was not alone. I did not do it all alone.
I am not a lone wolf, a lone pioneer, or a lone winner.
I am a woman who is blessed to have loving, supportive, and intentional community. I am a woman who celebrates her wins with her people, because I know it’s our win. That I could not have done it if I were alone, and even if I could have, I would not want to. Because it just wouldn’t feel as good.
That night Omkari, Leesa, and I celebrated like only three Black women could.
We laughed, we ate good food, we told stories, we poured love into one another. We loved on one another. And it’s still one of my sweetest memories to date.
Throughout that night I also called all the people I considered to be my community to tell them ‘we did it! 🥳’ and to thank them for the role they had played in helping me make it happen.
I went to bed alone in my hotel room that night, but very much feeling like I was connected to my community all over the world. Success felt like success because I got to share it with others.
Becoming a good ancestor is not a solitary journey. It’s a community one.
But far too many of us have come to equate legacy work with personal success, achievement, and triumph only. And why wouldn’t we? It’s what so many TV shows, movies, fictional stories, biopics, memoirs, YouTube videos, and social media posts have taught us is true.
But it’s not. We forget that this work is both/and - for the individual and for the collective.
Legacy work that is not only for our personal gain is a replication of paradigms of domination and separation. And, legacy work that is only for the collective gain is a reflection of toxic self-sacrifice and codependency.
But legacy work that holds both - ourselves and others - is community work. It includes us as part of that community. It reminds us that we must honour our own personal journeys, and honour the connective tissue of the collective.
It reminds us that ‘becoming a good ancestor’ is both something we desire for ourselves personally, but also something that is pretty meaningless without someone(s) to be a good ancestor to!
Legacy work that is grounded in community is not only more effective and more sustainable. It is a joy within itself. It makes success feel successful. Purpose feel purposeful. And healing feel, well, healing :)
One of my 8 commitments this year of my life is ‘Community’:
“I commit to being in loving community with people whose values are aligned with mine and whose energy feels good to my nervous system. I engage in intentional relationships of clear communication, compassionate care, mutual respect, and honouring of each others’ humanity. I lovingly release relationships that do not serve each other’s spiritual growth.”
Let’s make 2023 the year of community.
To our healing + liberation,
Layla
