A Letter from Our Founder

Hey friend,

Tori here. I don’t know about you, but I have felt so heavy lately. The burden of injustice. The weight of what happens when a soul’s innocence is stripped of them. The heartbreak of knowing that there is suffering happening all over the world and there is very little that I can do regarding each wound taking place.

It’s grief. Grief for what could be. Grief over what was and is. The kind of grief that has me crying periodically for seemingly no reason. But really, the reason is there. It’s in the horrors I have seen and heard of lately. While I’m doing laundry, thinking about putting things where they belong, then all of a sudden – tears.

The reason is there, but sometimes the grief doesn’t come until you’ve become still enough to hear it. And… you don’t always have to know the where, why, how, what and when to feel that something is not right.

I’m not going to lie to you – this grief has had me questioning many things. Questions like, What’s the point? Why do we do what we do? What’s wrong with us (humanity)? And while I can’t say that I have found the answers to those questions, I have found some solace in community.

I have seen people whose skin, stories, and cultures are different come together and sit with each other as witness. I have seen the relief and peace that that brings. Not every hurt has to be personally witnessed or told in detail. Some things heal through intentional space and a shared willingness to just be present with the pain.

My heart aches for families all across the country right now who are afraid for their safety. People who don’t know what their tomorrow will look like or where they will be. I know that the only certain thing in life is uncertainty, but uncertainty sure looks different from a place of privilege.

I was talking to a client today about the difference between tolerating others who disagree with you and forcing yourself to be around people whose beliefs, values, and ways of living assault your soul. There is a difference, and that difference is safety.

Many things in life can be tolerated. But what shouldn’t be tolerated is assault. It doesn’t matter if it is physical, mental, or emotional – if it is an assault, you should not have to withstand it.

For those of us who live from a place of privilege, I’m asking us to be honest about whether what feels like threat is truly harm — or whether fear is shaping our reactions in ways that cost others their dignity and safety. Discomfort is not oppression.

Difference is not danger. Can you tolerate people who are different than you? Can you see the humanity in another’s soul, even when their life, beliefs, or identity are not your own?

Tonight I read a poem that had me in tears. It’s from Reverse Graffiti – one of my favorite poem collections by Scott Feinberg. It goes like this:

i see you

when we look at one another, what is it that we see?

the depth at which I’m meeting you is equal to the depths of which I've met myself.

can you see me beyond my body, beyond my behavior, beyond the role I represent in your life?

beyond my yesterday?

can you see me now?

without filters?

i vow to see you too.

can I see the true, deep, unfathomably beautiful, and brilliant essence of you?

can I see you as not more than me or less than me? can I see you as me?

can I see you as me?

i know that deep down you’ve stored some wounds.

i also know you have the courage to heal.

i know that deep down you harbor some fears.

i also know you have the bravery to face them.

i know that deep down you are an incredible light.

and I know you have the boldness to shine it.

i am an advocate for your essence to manifest its power, its mystery, its wonder.

you see…

i see you.

As your friend, community member, therapist, sister, daughter, granddaughter, I ask – can we please begin to see each other? Begin to feel for each other just enough that we can treat each other with the love, respect, and dignity that we all deserve?

While the past few weeks have felt a bit hopeless, I’m going to be over here holding hope – hope that people truly want to see each other. Hope that as conscious beings we can look around and see the suffering of others. Hope that once we see it, we can feel it and then do something with that.

I’m also going to be over here doing the smallest things to find my joy again, because that is my birthright. Joy in the small ways I see people helping each other at the store. Joy in music, fire, the moon, and community.

I hope that while you may be suffering through the world as it currently exists, you too may find a moment, even if a tiny one, to see the sky and know that while a lot of shit is burning, there are pockets of warmth that exist around this nation where you will not be burned, but instead, will be seen and held.

I am forever grateful for all of the beautiful souls that I get to see on a regular basis – because you all remind me of why I do what I do, why our team does what we do, and why there is hope to keep going.

With love,

Tori Tatum