When I traveled to New York City with Justice and Joy National Collaborative for our in-person planning meeting for the Fixing Democracy Project, it felt significant in more ways than one.
We were coming together to think through our broader strategy and prepare for the next rollout of the Rapid Response Education Fund. Being in person changes the energy. You hear each other differently. You sit with the weight of the work in a deeper way. When we talk about resource distribution, power, and young people’s access to funding, those aren’t abstract conversations, they impact real lives. And that responsibility is something WE don’t take lightly.
One evening, I checked in with Jeannette and MaryAnn and asked if I could skip our group dinner. I really wanted to explore the city for a few hours. They were supportive, and I’m extremely grateful for that. Because that decision turned into something much bigger than what I expected.
I grew up in the foster care and juvenile justice system in Kansas. For most of my childhood, life was about navigating instability. I didn’t grow up taking trips. I didn’t grow up imagining I’d be traveling to New York for national strategy meetings. I definitely didn’t grow up believing I’d one day see a Broadway show. So when I found myself walking through the city alone, I felt this quiet awareness come over me. I wasn’t rushing to the next thing. I wasn’t in survival mode. I was just enjoying the experience.
My first stop was Dumbo Market. I went and stood between the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges. I took photos. I looked up. I let myself take it in. It felt symbolic without me trying to make it symbolic, like I was physically standing between where I’ve been and where I am headed.
Next, I went to Chinatown. I didn’t just pass through. I talked to people. I asked for recommendations. I asked what I shouldn’t miss. I let myself be curious. There was something energizing about connecting with strangers without fear and engaging in conversation just because I wanted to explore more. I wandered through Little Italy too, taking in the energy, the smells, the noise. No agenda, no pressure, just experiencing the city.
Later that night, I saw Wicked on Broadway, a dream I’ve carried since I was a little girl. I remember sitting in that theater feeling emotional and thinking, “I never thought this would be my life.” There are younger versions of me who truly couldn’t imagine this moment.
And that realization was so emotional.
I felt it deeply. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Gratitude that I survived long enough to experience this, gratitude that I am blessed to have these opportunities, and gratitude for Justice + Joy for investing so much into my life and my healing. Specifically, gratitude to work with Women who lead with love, understanding, compassion, and curiosity.
After the show, I rode through Times Square in a wagon being pulled by bikes. The lights were bright, music was playing, and the city felt alive in that way only New York does at night. It was silly and playful and bright. I laughed so much. I felt light in a way I’m not always used to feeling. And then this overwhelming sense of joy hit me, not just excitement, but something deeper. A fullness. A freedom. That feeling stayed with me long after the ride ended. It stayed with me even as I packed up to leave. On the plane ride home, I found myself tearing up, not because I was sad, but because I felt so genuinely happy and fulfilled. It felt almost unfamiliar to hold that much joy without fear attached to it. And that realization alone meant more than I can fully explain.
Before leaving, I went to an immersive art museum. At the end of the museum, I sat down and colored a picture. There was a QR code you could scan to watch your drawing come alive on a large screen. I chose to color a phoenix.
At the time, I didn’t overthink it. But when I scanned the code and watched the bird I created begin to move, stretching its wings, rising, lifting off the screen, it felt deeply personal. The phoenix is a symbol of rebirth. Of surviving fire and still choosing to rise. And standing there, watching something I created expand and take flight, I felt the weight of that symbolism in my own life. There were years where I was in survival mode. Years where parts of me felt silenced, and I was just trying to make it through. Years that felt like fire.
But healing isn’t just about surviving the fire. It’s about what happens after.
Watching that phoenix rise reminded me that we are not just meant to survive what tried to break us, but we are meant to transform because of it. We’re not meant to just endure hardships; we grow wings in the process. Healing, for me, has looked exactly like that, rising slowly, sometimes quietly, but steadily into a life that once felt impossible.
That’s what this trip gave me. Yes, we were there to build strategy. Yes, we were planning the next phase of the Rapid Response Education Fund. Yes, we were talking about power, democracy, and distributing resources to young people.
But we were also healing ourselves. This experience reminded me that healing doesn’t only happen in therapy rooms with heavy conversations. Sometimes it happens when you give yourself permission to wander. Sometimes it happens when you say yes to a childhood dream. Sometimes it happens in art museums, under bright lights, or between two bridges doing things in a city you once only imagined.
Justice and Joy didn’t just bring me to New York to work. They created a pathway where I get to build, lead, and heal at the same time.
And that is Unapologetic Advocacy.
