Fighters Get Scared Too

My mother shared a most insightful passage she wrote on a brief mental respite at her work table, amidst a tsunami of files and papers where she is regularly found toiling over a paper, article, appeal,  or judgment for her clients or the human rights movement. She has spent the past 30+ years of her life working for and attending to the business of educating, supporting, and winning equal rights battles and lobbying for law reform for women, children, and all, in various organizations and international courts. 

Her sacrifices for the struggles of others are countless, and frankly the workload is mind boggling. Her efforts take her all over the world hearing stories and cases of unimaginable atrocities which she simply cannot abide, and so she barrels forth beyond any reasonable expectation and often with little reward or at personal cost, with a tireless dedication and optimism that floors me.  I could never hope to step into the shoes of such a woman, but I was touched to be let into a vulnerable outpouring of her heart in this impromptu passage that has thankfully been legally released for my blog (haha!):

My Struggle

They praise my work for the rights of women and children - in fact for the enjoyment of human rights by all.  But do they know?

Do they know the fears?

Do they know the doubts?

Do they know the nervousness?

Do they know the exhaustion? 

Do they know the passion and the energy it takes to overcome these things, and which push me on to do, to speak, to write, to present, to lobby, to participate?

Do they know the prayers I say for strength, for inspiration, for knowledge, for understanding, for patience, for consistency?

Do they know?

Do they even care to know?

Does it matter if they know, if it's what I must do to fulfill my life,  when I chose my struggle as the soul transporter of my purpose?

Margarette May Macaulay, July 11, 2010