When a metaphor haunts me, I heed it. Alice came to me after work most days this autumn, smashing through the ceiling in her stripey stockings and hunching awkwardly in the rabbit hole she had outgrown. I would see her, like an apparition, all of the sudden too violently too big and unwieldly, uncomfortable in her ungangly positions, all knees and elbows. One Saturday morning I pulled down my copy of Alice in Wonderland from my bookshelf and squinted at the iconic illustration. Yes, that is exactly how I felt. Cramped and uneasy: I closed my eyes and imagined blowing up my life. I imagined bearing down with all my weight on those cartoon dynamite levers, the kind that blow tunnels through mountains and make holes. I needed a bigger hole to sit in. So I did it. I am leaving the education sector. Ten years ago, back in September 2009, I was so excited about equipping kids with the tools to change their lives and I am still excited about that but the changes in education mean I have been increasingly unable to use my hard-won skillset. I found myself cornered into more tick-box work that was pushing students towards attainment at the expense of teaching literacy and lifeskills they need to decode and access their world and flourish and build a life they want to live in. Alice haunted me and told me my soul was dying and I was in danger of suffocating here: I blew open my life and I am starting a different role in the social care sector in mid- January in a job that will enable me to do what I love doing, equipping people with the tools they need to forge a life they can flourish in.
But I don’t think I am finished blowing up my life. I have so much to give, and, with joy, it occurs to me that no one is stopping me from giving it. I am not going to ‘shrink from touching my power,’ as Adrienne Rich chastises me, in her poem, Hunger. I call myself a writer, but that doesn’t mean I have to use my big, gorgeous voice to write a novel. I can use it for whatever the hell I want! It is my creative libido, and I want to wield it to create a world I want to live in, that is humane and just and gorgeous. I can write letters for Amnesty International #writeforrights or use it to write letters to my friends or use it to advocate or amplify concerns and voices and injustices. I can spend my privilege. I have so much to spend. I can take risks and protest and speak truth to power because I have leisure time now that my kid is older and I am able to choose not to have another one, I have an able body, a support network, emotional agility and pretty good mental health from years of expensive therapy, I have the credibility that white skin and a middle-class pattern of speech buys. I have a neurotypical mind. I have the anchor of a stable family life and I have enough financial stability to own a flat in London and buy nice vegetables. My right to remain in this country is no longer precarious. I need to spend this privilege. I do not want to live in a world where I am disconnected and helpless, watching greed strip the most marginalised and vulnerable of their fair share, their dignity, their breath and sanity because I am not free if I am silently complicit, if I stand by and watch it happen without putting up a fight. But I have more than fight in me. I have an opus in me. I want to join (I am late to the feast, I know) the great work that others have been doing. I want to add my voice, my time, my energy, my money, my power to everyone else who is already effecting change.
Alice is no longer haunting me now that I have decided I refuse to be small and powerless. Instead, now I bring to mind the suffragette statue of Millicent Fawcette in Parliment Square. If there was ever a time to unfurl a banner, ‘Courage calls to courage everywhere,’ 2020 is the year to do it.