(Note: This was originally written for my family who had begun to complain on Facebook about my ‘political’ postings and opinion pieces. I re-read it and kind of still liked it, so I’ve included it here even though I’m working on a newer version as I continue to find myself.)

For someone so quiet it may seem strange – my posts, my links, my commentary. I’ve always been quiet; listening silently, agreeing or not, but remaining silent and mostly following. Even though I felt this starting in education and parenting because of my kids, I’ve been online for almost four years, and it’s created an even greater voice I didn’t know I could have. That’s probably why I go kicking and screaming to each new social media, but I still go, looking for the one that fits; the one that will give a meaningful platform to my words.

I don’t know how someone goes from silently watching and taking notes hoping for change other than speaking out; for something, whatever that something is to being an actual activist. That was always a word I was afraid of, but the reality is that is what I feel like. The old cliche of “if I don’t, who will” has never felt more true.

As I said, it started by questioning teachers and administrators, and school nurses when I felt my kids were not being treated in the way that I thought they should be treated. My excuse was that I was old and cranky, and people would laugh, but it’s laughable that I needed some kind of excuse to do what was best for my kids.

I came very naturally to It Gets Better and The Trevor Project. Children should not be killing themselves. They should be playing and going to the mall and fighting with their parents about their computers, Xboxes and cell phones.

The Human Rights Campaign and Marriage Equality and Transgender Remembrance happened for me when I saw something first-hand and knew it was wrong, but didn’t know how to fix it. For me and for others, a lightbulb goes off and it’s always been there in front of you, but you’re too afraid to see it or too afraid to speak up or you remember times you’ve made mistakes from not understanding and then you do understand; some of it anyway. Besides a personal story that is not mine to share (more than one actually), I’ve also realized that my ‘tolerance’ was validation for someone else’s life, and the people living the life don’t need my validation or approval; just my love and support.

I started speaking out against domestic violence and abuse in all its forms when my closest friend was shot and his roommate, who would have been my friend eventually was murdered.

I’m starting to talk about and link to the topics of mental illness. Just the phrase ‘mental illness’ has negative connotations and everyone shudders and hugs and finds the pill to make it go away. But mental illness isn’t always illness and it isn’t always negative; sometimes it’s just different.

I’m also starting to post about Autism. My interest began with my own children and looking for warning signs, and reading about vaccines and other causes, but knowing more people and interacting with them and seeing different sides of a word opens it up to talking about it.

These things, whatever you want to call them – causes, projects, undertakings – they’ve come to me naturally and speaking out is hard; it’s the hardest thing I’ve done. I don’t want to embarrass myself or my husband and kids by either saying the wrong thing or speaking too loud. I still care what people think of me. I still don’t like a spotlight on me. I really don’t like the center of attention, especially if it’s extremely positive or extremely negative, but as hard as it is, it is still easier than what the people I link to are going through.

It may look a bit like follow the leader, but if I didn’t believe it, I wouldn’t do it or talk about it. The one thing I found from this summer was that I was in my element with mapping and media lists and urgent cares and updating the website. I’d like to do it for something that’s not a grieving process, where I won’t feel guilty for enjoying the parts that are enjoyable; where I can help people and still do it for me, too.

And I want to write about it. There’s an essay coming about college and careers and writing and a long talk in a far away place, but for now this is what I want; what I need. And this is who I am.

At 45, I expected less change, but as physically lazy as I can be, all I see ahead are continuing changes and reaching out and touching the edge with my fingertips and pulling up and moving slowly forward, but never back; and then writing about it.

It scares me.

Activism. Living my life. Writing. Something.