grace as a revolutionary practice

/rōot/ awakenings post # 10 - on compassion, understanding, and shared humanity

grace as a revolutionary practice
original image by dimple dhabalia

Last week, as snow blanketed the world outside my window, I noticed the shrubs in front of my house, their leaves curled tightly against the cold. They weren’t battling the elements; they were yielding to them, conserving energy in a quiet act of self-preservation that felt profoundly graceful. Unlike our human minds, which often trap us in damaging narratives—tying our actions, or inaction, to shame, criticism, and judgment—the plants weren’t paralyzed. They simply tuned into an innate understanding of what was needed to endure, trusting that this act of self-care would ultimately preserve the whole.

I spent much of the week reflecting on the role of grace in context of resistance and collective action. Many friends and colleagues have shared feelings of guilt and shame for not being more enraged or ready to fight in the face of the dehumanization and injustice shaping the new administration’s policies. With so many challenges demanding our attention, energy, and resolve, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed, caught in cycles of fear, anger, and exhaustion. And yet, amid the weight of it all, there’s a quiet truth we often forget: grace isn’t just something to offer others—it’s something we owe ourselves.

Practicing grace allows us to create spaces to breathe, rest, and reflect without judgment. It’s the willingness to meet ourselves where we are, to acknowledge the complexity of our emotions, and to release the expectation of always having to do more, be more, or fix everything. Grace reminds us that it’s okay to pause and to be human.

How often do we extend this type of understanding to ourselves? To others? We’ve been conditioned to push through, fueled by guilt or the belief that stepping back is a form of failure. We judge ourselves and others for setting boundaries and practicing self-care. But grace offers us an alternative—an invitation to accept where we are, to tend to our needs, and to trust in the power of the pause, and to help others do the same. Much like the leaves outside my window, we must learn to be in tune with the needs of our mind, body, and spirit—and have faith that tending to those needs in a given moment will benefit the whole system in the long run.

For me, this looked like going dark on inauguration day: turning off all notifications on my phone, staying off social media, and choosing to spend the day moving my body, eating comfort foods, and escaping into tried-and-true TV shows that make me laugh. It was about letting friends know I wasn’t ready to talk about what was happening. I knew it was what I needed at that moment. There was no guilt or shame—just a quiet trust that honoring my needs would strengthen me for what lies ahead.

As tempting as it is to feel like we have to do all the things right now, grace offers us moments of retreat to recharge. But let’s be clear—retreating to recharge is not a retreat from resistance; it’s a part of it. It’s a recognition that the work we do—whether it’s showing up for others, advocating for justice, or simply navigating the complexities of life—is unsustainable without moments of rest and reflection. Grace allows us to recalibrate, to find strength in stillness, and to approach challenges with renewed clarity and purpose.


a compassionate reframe

Grace isn’t a luxury or an indulgence—it’s a necessity. It’s not about giving up or disengaging; it’s about honoring the balance between our needs and our actions. Offering ourselves grace creates the space to process, heal, and gather the strength to keep going. Extending grace to others fosters understanding, compassion, and a sense of shared humanity. Resistance, growth, and change are rarely linear, and there’s no shame in moving at your own pace.

reflection prompts

As you reflect on the intersection of grace and resistance, I invite you to reflect on the following:

  • In what ways can you release self-judgment and offer yourself the same understanding you would extend to a friend?
  • How might honoring your needs without guilt, shame, or judgment benefit the whole?
  • What opportunities do you see to extend grace to others, and how might this strengthen your capacity to create meaningful connection and keep showing up over the long haul?

one final thought

The challenges we face are immense, and the path forward may feel daunting. But grace reminds us that we don’t have to navigate it all at once, and we don’t have to navigate it on our own. We can take things moment by moment, allowing ourselves to rest, reflect, and recharge. When we offer ourselves and others grace, we create spaces of resilience that allow us to continue—steadily, imperfectly, and with unwavering care over the long term. Together, we have the capacity to carry the weight of this moment and all the moments ahead, but only if we remember to give ourselves and one another the space—and the permission—to breathe.

May this week bring you moments of stillness, the courage to honor your needs without hesitation, and the grace to move through challenges with compassion for yourself and others.

In solidarity + gratitude,

a quick note

This week, I’ll be celebrating a milestone birthday. In honor of that, I’m taking some much-needed time for silence, reflection, and a break from my devices. Instead of a full /rōot/ awakenings post, I’ve prepared a couple of simple posts with a quote and reflection for you. Regular posts will resume the week of February 16. Wishing you a safe, healthy, and grace-filled couple of weeks ahead 🩵


in case you missed them . . .

throwing stones
This week, the United States engaged in the ritual of inaugurating a new president, a tradition meant to symbolize continuity and stability through a peaceful transition of power. In the name of self-preservation, I chose to go dark and turn inward on the actual day. Rituals are meant to feel grounding, a tether to something familiar—but this time was d…
honoring Dr. King’s legacy: mutuality and connection as acts of resistance
The use of fear, blame, and isolation to consolidate control and divide communities is not new. For generations, those in power have tried to perpetuate the illusion that our struggles are separate and that we’re alone in our suffering. What feels different now is how openly and unabashedly these tactics are being used t…
finding hope in the midst of despair
This week felt exceptionally heavy. The devastation from fires raging across Los Angeles. Mourning the loss of a leader who embodied the moral courage so desperately lacking in today’s world. Bearing witness to multiple genocides that remain unacknowledged by much of the Western world. Grappling with the reality of an increasingly dystopian future, wher…
the final leaf
As 2024 draws to a close, I find myself filled with gratitude for the incredible support and encouragement I’ve received from all of you this year. The publication of Tell Me My Story has been a milestone made meaningful by your kind words, shared reflections, and unwavering belief in its message—and in me. Together, we’re building a community grounded …