We Need Care Models That Nourish The Givers, Too.

Liberation Is Not Free (And It Shouldn’t Cost You Your Life, Health or Relationships)

I haven’t been able to write much lately.

On May 12th, I marked the first anniversary of my father’s passing. He died one year ago, and though I’m deeply grateful for the way he left this plane—with love, with dignity—my body still felt unbearably heavy.

Just like when he was transitioning, my own body craved stillness. Flat on the ground. As close to the earth as possible. Grief doesn’t ask for permission—it just arrives. And this anniversary brought so much with it.

There’s the personal grief. And then there’s the collective ache. What’s happening in the Congo is getting worse every day. I have dreams about floods swallowing my whole family, about having to travel there trying to count coins, trying to figure out how to bury them all.

I know it sounds wild. But trauma has never made sense. And dreams only twist the ache into stranger shapes. At least the ones that our subconscious bring to the surface of our nights.

Burying my father last year cost over €13,000. That number burned itself into my nervous system. At the time, I couldn’t process it—it went somewhere deep, hidden, waiting for a moment when I had enough capacity to feel it.

That’s the thing about the body.

It waits for softer days.

It delays what might drown us.

The body is so kind, y’all.

Just like the earth, the body is so kind.

As a somatic practitioner, I know this intimately. The body lives in that pause between what’s happened and what can finally be held.

And money—money has always been a wound in my family. I know I’m not alone in that.

This isn’t just about trauma. It’s about survival. It’s about access, dignity, care. It’s about who gets to belong. Who gets to be safe. Who gets to rest.

Lately, I’ve been watching people around me fall into burnout. One by one. Quietly. And honestly? I’ve been dancing with burnout most of my life. If someone told me to “just rest more” or “drink water and meditate,” I’d laugh. Because it’s not about that. It’s never been about that. It’s so much bigger.

And honestly, y’all…

I want to grow old. Like old, old (am I the only one wondering what I’d look like when I grow old?, Like, would all my hair become white??!)

I want to live longer than my father did.

I want to be this queer cute, well-dressed elder who tells the next generation:

"You belong. I’ve got you. I can be your mama if you need one."

Yes, this is personal. But it’s also systemic.

Because liberation is not free.

And so many organizers are broke.

So many care workers are hanging by a thread.

I’ve seen this over and over—and it’s only getting worse.

Inflation isn’t slowing down. The cost of living is brutal. We barely can access housing. And somehow it still feels radical to say that care shouldn’t cost us our nervous systems, our relationships, or our life force.

But that’s the lie of racial capitalism—it makes us crave the most basic needs, and then calls us crazy for wanting them.

So many of us—doulas, therapists, organizers, artists, space-holders—are holding up the world while barely able to hold ourselves.

We’ve been taught that this is noble.

That care should be invisible.

That we should show up again and again, for free, for cheap, for less than we’re worth.

That’s not noble.

That’s just violence.

If you’re a care worker reading this (I include parents and farmers ! thanks for taking care of the most precious bodies we get to be in relationship with, kids and the earth!) , and whether you come to this series or not: thank you. I am so grateful for you.

And if you feel absolutely exhausted: I just want you to know, that you don’t need to quit care. You need system change. You need systems that you’re doing the most important job here. And most importantly:

You deserve care that includes you in it.

✨ Abundance for Careworkers is a 3-week space to reclaim the sacred in your care artistry, recalibrate your capacity, and reimagine your relationship to care, money, and sustainability—without replicating capitalist harm. I want this space to be full of amazing care workers, so we can also exchange best practices over time, and be here for one another, when everything else feels hard.

Our first session is this Sunday! You don’t have to come to all 3, but I strongly recommend it !

📅 3 Sundays: May 25 | June 1 | June 8

🕰 5–8PM CET / 11AM–2PM EST

💸 Sliding scale €30–60–90 (Black folks won’t be turned away for lack of funds)

🌱 15% goes to We Take Care of We, a fund for Black & Trans folks

🔗 Enroll here – replays available if you can’t come live!

With you in the work,

Care