On Having an Edge

Recently, I had a difficult conversation that turned into a long couple of days with someone I love—a big disagreement about something I've stayed away from for a while, knowing we have different views. But this time I felt it. I felt my chest rise. I felt fire come up from my belly. I had an edge.

I held my ground. I didn't acquiesce, and I didn't apologize, which is rare for me. I've apologized in the past to keep the peace, but lately I'm learning that when we walk away from what does not serve us, we get to walk into what does.

I'm still recovering from those long couple of days. I'm still figuring things out, still observing. But what I know for now is this: I'm okay with the edge.

After years of feeling my way through, knowing that anger isn't typically my go-to emotion, I've discovered a little fire underneath—or maybe a lot. And it's not misplaced fire. It's necessary fire. Given where we are as a country, given where we are as a world.

My heart won't let me be silent about ICE and human rights. Even the Bible—Leviticus 19:33-34—says we must treat foreigners as native-born and love them as ourselves. Though I'm not religious, that truth resonates deeply. The momma bear comes out in me, the big sister, the auntie, the cousin, the neighbor. I want to protect those living in fear, feeling the terror. My dear friends have gently reminded me that my energy is better spent donating and writing letters to anyone who will listen. But part of me wants to throw myself in front of those in danger. For years I've wanted to fly toward other atrocities, to help with my hands and my body. Without my own children, I would.

So instead, for years, I have written letters. I have donated. I have kept my social media somewhat soft. Even that is changing. Because it feels complicit to not speak up.

That kind of edge? I'm okay letting it shine through. It's needed.

I'm known for my softness and my kindness, and yet as I've just celebrated another birthday, I'm realizing how much I'm willing to embrace the edgier parts of myself.

The parts that will no longer tolerate what I once did. The parts willing to speak up—loudly—for others, and sometimes even for myself. I've been coming up on an edge lately that isn't as comfortable for me, but in some ways it feels liberating.

I still hesitate sometimes, wondering what someone will think. But mostly? I care too much to not speak my truth when it's needed, and I care just enough to know when to walk away. I don't need to be right, but with some people, the edge isn't worth it—walking away is.

This edge isn't new—I've felt it before in motherhood, protecting my children. I've felt it standing up for others. But lately, I have it for myself. I'm still testing it out, dipping my toes in the water, but I think this edge is needed.

My youngest is a senior in high school now, and I learn from him—he can have an edge too. In fact, my oldest, who's turning 21, does as well. Watching them has taught me something: having an edge isn't about being hard all the time. What I don't want, what I've learned I can't hold space for, is someone in my life who only has an edge. Balance is key. And for me, softness and kindness with a touch of edge—that's the sweet spot.

Here's where I'm clear: I'm not okay with this edge in conversations with those I hold beloved when it would damage connection. I'm not okay with this edge around people who aren't safe. I'm not okay with it if it will intentionally hurt another.

But this edge I have—if it's for standing up for others, for human rights, for what I believe is so deeply wrong right now—you'll see it. It's necessary.

I often write about how two things can be true at once. And here's what I believe: we can have this edge and we can have kindness all at once. In fact, they can be the same thing.