I was in the middle of co-facilitating an all day training about a week ago. There were about 50 people in the room, watching me. I stood up from the chair I was sitting on to answer some questions. I had a microphone in my left hand and I used my right to pull the chair back so I could walk around it.
My thumb dislocated and popped back into place. I wanted to cry because it hurt so bad. It always does.
It happens on occasion but it’s becoming more frequent now. This was the second time in a month.
The swelling is immediate but the pain, it hurts like hell. As much as I want to scream, I have to stay focused on what I’m saying. I can’t let the audience know what just happened. The topic is a serious one.
The first day is always the most painful, then it gradually eases off over the next week. I have no idea what kind of damage I’ve done to it but I know exactly when it started.
New Years Eve 2003.
I was out celebrating with about 25 of my cousins and friends. We were at a hip hop club in the west end of the city, where we spent every Saturday night before that. It was a small, intimate club that was filled with regulars every weekend. New Year’s Eve brought a different crowd, unfamiliar faces to a familiar place.
We had our usual seating area blocked off and we were all scattered at the time. I was on the dance floor with my boyfriend, my sister, and my 16 year old cousin, who we brought in despite her not being of legal drinking age. Knowing the owners had its perks. There was a group of about 3 men, one was obnoxiously drunk. He had his back to me on the dance floor but kept crashing into my side. I let it go a couple times but when he almost knocked me over, I pushed him off with my arm. He immediately turned around and got in my face. He was looking for a fight.
Fuck you.
That’s all I said to him. He stepped closer towards me and with his face now right in mine, he says…
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.
My boyfriend was the only male I was with at the time. It took only seconds for this guy to realize that. Before he even had a chance to react, the guy turns to him and punches him in the face.
Everything went black with a rage I didn’t know existed inside me. The entire club erupted into a fight and I saw nothing but this guy’s face in front of me. I started punching. I don’t remember how many times my hand made contact with his face. I don’t remember anything before another man grabbed me from behind and picked me up off the ground. He carried me away kicking and screaming and all he kept saying was “stop, just relax, stop!” I couldn’t see him but I thought it was my cousin. I was screaming for him to put me down because I could see my entire family involved in the fight now. He put me down and my boyfriend grabbed me and pulled me into his arms.
I came back in that moment. Terrified. I had no idea where I had just gone.
The fight ended shortly afterwards and the group of men were taken out by security and undercover police. The owner brought us all a round of drinks, the DJ started playing music again, we hit the dance floor and rung in the New Year 20 minutes later.
But the damage had been done; physically and mentally.
I had rediscovered a darkness I didn’t know I was still living with and it would take almost a year for my hand to heal, though it would never be same again.
People often comment about my laid back, relaxed attitude towards life. About my ability to remain stable in times of crisis. How I always seem to be the level headed one when others cannot be. This has served me well.
While it is true that I am a very consistently steady individual, I was not always this way.
I’m steady because I know what I’m capable of. I’m laid back because the result of my escalation is something I never again want to see. It took that moment for me to finally admit to myself how much anger lived inside me. How much pain I held onto for so long. It was only a matter of time before that anger came out, and I’m grateful that it didn’t end worse than that.
My thumb is a reminder of that darkness.
For the last 13 years, I’ve used it as such. Every time it dislocates, I check my anger. I see where I’m at mentally and make sure I’m in a good place. It’s been a very long time since I haven’t been, and yet, my thumb keeps getting hurt.
The reminder has served me well. It really has. However, as I get older, I realize that maybe it’s trying to tell me something else now. Maybe, just maybe, I should finally see a doctor about it. My fighting days are over, I’m more concerned about arthritis.
I’ll make an appointment on Monday.
And miles to go before I sleep 