I Am Ready For Home

This Is My Vision of Mexico

*A reminder that the resource guide for Palestine can be downloaded here.

Yesterday was dark.

It was the kind of dark where you search for any sliver of hope and, it isn’t there.

I was awake at 2am today. I hardly ever sleep. 

My last night of restful sleep was July 4th, 2023. I had three uninterrupted nights of sleep that entire year - I remember each date. The absence of space to restore has destroyed pieces of my physical, mental and emotional health that I’ll never recover.

I felt annoyance as I watched the clock. 

I don’t want to be here. This is cruel. Can I please just not exist?

And yet, I have been unable to take action. I fear that I’ll be as lonely on the other side as I am here.

Even my pain feels incompetent. 

“Either finish this or quit talking about it” snarled the familiar voice in my head.

Are we writing an end of life plan or planning a move to Mexico? 

You have to choose, you can’t do both. 

This is too much. I searched my phone for a distraction. 

The first post in my feed is often one that warns of ‘sensitive content’ - not today. 

This is what opened instead. 

soundliberator

A post shared by @soundliberator

The instant warm tears were unexpected. 

I played Tents Of Kedar from Piano Sonata #2 (Liberation of Royalty) over and over until it replaced the voice that demanded a choice. 

Each note was a salve.

This music made me remember a performance piece by artist Simone Leigh and opera singer Alicia Hall Moran. 

It was entitled “Breakdown.”

The artist described it as “a rare, sanctioned glimpse of a Black woman in emotional crisis over the familiar pressures of everyday life. The overall operatic style aligns this Black woman’s emotional release and raises questions about which expressive displays are valued or criticized, and whose personal dramas are legitimized or dismissed. Though alone in a balcony, Moran points to the screen to us, her imagined audience. What role does our witnessing play when personal pain is presented for public consumption.” 

My own publicly consumed pain winced as I listened.

I wept until I couldn’t catch my breath. 

Nope, fuck that. Too many feelings. 

I headed back online for another distraction but a Substack DM caught my attention. 

It was from a beautiful human that I’m thankful to know. 

Online communication is hard for me these days as I am desperately overwhelmed. But the earlier events left me vacant - I had space. 

It said “what has felt like the longest storm of a lifetime is about to end, goodness is on the horizon.” 

This is my take. Her original words are mine to hold.

Everything isn’t meant to be shared.

I was in shambles. 

Wait, no. Don’t fall for the okey-doke of hope, babe. Don’t you remember? Hope is painful. Your life is one disappointment after another. You can’t handle anymore….

I once again searched for distraction. These feelings can go to hell. 

My Instagram feed opened on threads, it never does that. 

This is what I read:

I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried…

OK fine, I hear you. I hear you!

“Who are you, my love? What do you want” said a soft voice.

I am Robin Divine. Divine isn’t only my name, it is who I am. Here is my Vision. 

My move to Mexico was gentle and unexpectedly sudden. Networks of deep-rooted community care held me every step of the way. I am home. This is the place where I can breathe, heal and recover. This is where I belong. These are my people. My space holds cherished books and is clear of the possessions I believed I couldn’t live without. I am nourished by deep rest. I now know how it feels to live well. My broken cup is mended and overflows. I am able to share with others. Mexico is where I’ll create. Poverty is only in the books I’ll write. I care for my sweet little family with ease. I am an unbothered Black woman who is in love with my life. 

That’s my Vision.

I plan to read this everyday, feel free to join me.

Our words hold power.

It’s time for me to leave. However, I can’t do it on my own. 

I am in need of your support to make this a reality.

I made a commitment to not make further asks in this space and, oh.

Apologies. I take it back.

This is what community is about. 

I am unraveling my own colonized beliefs about mutual aid, shame and the perceived “limits” of care.

If advocating for my survival makes you uncomfortable, then…

…consider this your invitation to redirect your misplaced judgement to the oppressive, unjust systems of our society instead of towards those who are crushed by it. 

If you feel called to support my move home, please click here or the image.

To contribute to my basic expenses and help me stay housed until I’m able to relocate, please use my direct payment handles. (I really do live in poverty, it sucks.)

Venmo: @divinerobin

CashApp: $divinerobin

PayPal: practicecommunitycare@gmail.com

If you’re in need as well, then I hope you make it known to your community. We aren’t meant to do life alone. 

I’m grateful you’re here with me. Thank you for the care.

In wellness & rest, 

Robin