I wish y’all could have seen my face when I was handed a megaphone, of all things. Actually, it may be better my reaction was mainly internal, because I can tell you I did not feel nearly as confident as my picture portrays.
After more than a year of calling and emailing both of my US Senators, with hardly any response, I felt pretty ineffective. I was sure people would want to know the human cost of their proposed Healthcare changes. It had to be a mistake that both Senators had repeatedly voted to repeal the Affordable Care Act. They must not know what it means for my girls, and millions of children like them, who would be in mortal danger from such an unstudied and hasty change. To be fair, I had never approached them with a constituent issue in the past. Honestly, I didn’t even know their names until early 2017. Still, I had no way to anticipate the apathy I was greeted with by Senators Burr and Tillis.
I felt bold when I accepted the request from Little Lobbyists co-founder Elena Hung to speak (gasp!) in front of people (gasp!) at a political rally (gasp!), but in the days leading up to the #StopKavanaugh rally in Atlanta, my courage evaporated. I was left with the feeling that we all experience when asked to speak in public – all kinds of scary scenarios ran in a loop in my head. What if I fall over? Has anyone ever barfed at one of these things? Fainting seemed like a real possibility.
In the car, I poured over my carefully written remarks and practiced the purposefully placed pauses to my family, who listened in hopeful support. Together, we navigated through downtown Atlanta in our matching Little Lobbyists t-shirts and marched to the rally site. As I watched the three speakers ahead of me, I already felt the support of the crowd. This was a safe space filled with like-minded, active citizens who were angry about what we’re seeing come from our legislators. The unrest was pointed away from me, aiming straight for Washington DC.
Megaphone aside, when I spoke my first words, “My name is Stacy. I also answer to ‘Mom’, ‘Mommy’ and <ASL sign for ‘Mom’>…” I knew the crowd was already on my side and full of encouragement. I continued to tell the story of my beautiful twin toddlers, former micro-preemies who have fought every minute of their five years on this earth to stay with us. My voice broke as I shared snip-its from the early days in the NICU, when my willpower and determined stare were not enough to bring up oxygen saturation. The helpless feeling we have when the monitors are blaring and nurses move swiftly to intervene. I did my best to convey the impossible fragility of a 2lb newborn that has more wires than skin. When I waivered, I felt hands on my shoulder. I heard calls of encouragement from the crowd. I looked into the sea of faces and I saw genuine concern. Not just for our plight, but for the ongoing threat to their lives from a political party bent on undoing the accomplishments of the prior administration.
I ended my speech by asking for help. Beyond outrage, we need action. We need concerted efforts and relentless outreach to our legislators. Every day and twice on Sunday, we need calls, office visits, tweets and signs of protest to keep these critical issues top-of-mind. In April, I promised myself I would do at least one thing each day toward the goals of voter registration and story sharing. I see my daughters faces’ in the daily pictures of “100 Little Lobbyists Who Need You to Be a Health Care Voter” series we are sharing on social media.
I am a newly minted parent activist and I know there are more of us out there. I know you’re angry and worried about what’s happening. You want to get involved, but you’re constantly exhausted and a little unsure about how to take the next step. Recent weeks have been especially difficult for us. We have witnessed conduct that would have been unthinkable until it all unfolded on our televisions. It would make perfect sense to recoil in despair.
But consider this: What if we continue to speak up? What if our actions become stronger than our fears? What can we accomplish if we keep going? Just like we have done with our children and their medical teams, we can continue to advocate for them to reach their highest potential. I can help you. You can help me. We can do this together! Who’s with me?