Hope.

When you are repeatedly in the position to bear witness to the awful shit that humans do to each other, it's hard to see the good that's out there. In my job as a residence director and crisis responder, and as a volunteer at a needle exchange, I am in the position to see the awful shit a lot. In my experience in those roles, I have seen it. Some days, when I think back on what I've seen, worked with, I feel like I've seen literally all I can see. That's dramatic - obviously I haven't seen EVERYTHING. Calm down, Kristen.

I have seen some of the worst of what people do to each other and to themselves. Sometimes they do it to steal, to control, to feel like they have power, to get ahead, to survive. Sometimes they don't have a reason. Sometimes, bad shit gets done, or is done to, or happens, and that's just all there is.

It can be hard to hold onto hope - hope that it gets better, that you can overcome, that others can overcome, that we can keep marching, that we can survive what is done to us, or what we do.

In all my hours of therapy and introspection and reflection, I've developed a lot of strategies to manage my stress around dealing with critical incidents - that's what we call them in the biz. Critical incidents: When we respond to crisis or emergencies and the decisions we make are critical to the safety and wellbeing of those involved. I like to call those crisis moments "when shit gets real." In order to manage the stress that inevitably comes from the continued response to when shit gets real, I have breathing exercises, escape exercises, writing exercises, thinking and speaking and physical and emotional exercises. I have exercises for days. But the thing that helps the most? Hope.

If you hold on to hope, you can still see the good. You can still have something to move forward towards. You can still know that you're not alone. It's not easy. I was reminded of that last night, watching a client at the needle exchange walk away into the night after hearing his story; holding the hand of an assault survivor in the middle of a busy ER; walking back into my apartment after, sitting on my bed and crying for them both. When so much bad happens, will we ever be able to make it out? And then, if we do, will we still trust, love? Will we still see the light, the good, the heart? Will we be okay?

Hope is the feeling of expectation that something is going to happen - something good, I think. Hope is feeling like, even though it's shit now, you can wake up tomorrow and maybe it will be different. Maybe this time, it will be different. And maybe the world is still shit around you, and maybe it all still hurts, but you woke up and started marching anyway. Hope is what gets you out of bed, it's what makes you ask for help, it's what can keep your mind alive.

Hope is the thing they can't take away.

You have to hold onto hope. And, just as importantly - to me, at least - it's like Harvey Milk said, "You gotta give 'em hope."