Reader,

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Last week I told you about balancing community care with self-preservation.

If I take that up a notch — no, several notches — we hit a wall.

Where’s the line between allyship and martyrdom? In other words, between doing something because it’s the right cause versus doing it because I think I’m supposed to — even at the expense of myself?

Between showing up and disappearing into the cause?
Between commitment and collapse?

When do we stop giving when it never feels like enough?
When do we rest when there is still so much harm, so much grief, so much to do?

Or, how do we pause when pausing feels like betrayal?
Or, how do we step away when stepping away feels like abandonment?

How do we keep helping people heal when we know they are being harmed, over and over again, every single day?

There’s no perfect answer. There never has been.

But the truest one is often the simplest:

✨ We pause to gather strength. ✨

We stop — not because we don’t care.

We stop because we do.

This is not a call-out. This is a call-in.

I’m not blaming you for the inadvertent perfectionism baked into your activism, your therapy, your care work, your relentless hope.

That perfectionism was taught to you — a byproduct of colonial capitalism that equates worth with output, activism with exhaustion, and care with self-erasure.

I am not blaming you for any traumas either, the direct or vicarious wounds that make you want to spring into action even when there’s nothing left to give. I’ve done that too.

But here’s your reminder:

Liberation is not martyrdom.

Liberation is aliveness.

It’s knowing that you are not the sole savior of your clients, your community, or this world — even though every fiber of your being might wish you could be. (Most fibers of my being wish I could be. And I also know that’s not the way.)

Liberation is understanding that movements have always been carried by many hands, not one pair.

And that when you rest, the work doesn’t stop. It ripples. It continues through others, through time, through every seed you’ve already planted.

So if you are weary, and I know you are, remember that you are part of a lineage.

You are not meant to carry the entire revolution on your own.
You are meant to play your part, then rest your body.
You are meant to contribute your stone to the path, then trust that others will add theirs.
You are meant to pause, breathe, and return — stronger, softer, more human.

Because the world does not need more burned-out healers, activists, or therapists.

It needs liberated ones.

So this week, your act of resistance may simply be to:

🌱 rest without apology.
🌱 ask for support without shame.
🌱 say no when your cup is full.
🌱 take a break, even though the world is on fire.

And to trust that:

💫 the collective will continue the work.
💫 your worth is not measured by your output.

The revolution — like the body — needs cycles of activation and integration.

Pausing is not stepping back from liberation.
Pausing is what makes liberation possible.

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📝 Reflection prompts

• Where in your life or work are you crossing the line from commitment into martyrdom?
• What would it look like to support your causes without losing yourself in them?
• What would “pausing to gather strength” look like in your body, your relationships, or your daily rhythms this week?
• What kind of rest helps you return to the work more grounded, rather than more guilty?

Hit reply and let me know what came out for you with these reflections.

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With deep solidarity and care,

Silvana @ Decolonize Your Practice​

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PS. If these are the kinds of reflections that stir something in you—the ones that ask us to slow down, unlearn, and rebuild what liberation can mean in our daily lives—then come be part of The Practice of Liberation.​
It’s a dedicated space for therapists, healers, and space-holders who are ready to move beyond the checkbox version of “best practices” and engage with the raw, messy, vulnerable, deeply human, and liberatory work of truly healing ourselves as we help others heal. It’s a space for those who know that liberation isn’t a theory—it’s a daily practice, a remembering, a rebuilding of personal and professional.
Inside The Practice of Liberation we unravel colonial conditioning, hold space for systemic grief, and imagine new ways to practice that honor our clients and our humanity. You’ll get guided reflections, embodied exercises, and grounded conversations that don’t fit into public social media posts or polished trainings—plus a monthly list of resources (books, articles, talks, etc.) to keep your practice resourced and alive.

​Subscribe now and, as a thank-you for supporting this work before the end of the year, you’ll receive 30% off a 1:1 consultation session.
​(Regular rate is $240 — with 30% off, your session is $168 when booked before December 31.)

Read more about The POL here​

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