Strategy won't save us. But I do think there's a way to win.

The yin and yang of uncertainty is uncomfortable.

I’d like to find a way to integrate hope and vigilance, but accessing a peaceful coexistence with optimism and skepticism is tricky and I haven’t figured it out yet. And I’m witnessing the struggle in both myself (microcosm) and the world (macrocosm).

Perusing the health freedom social media sphere, there seems to be a bit of a war between optimists and the skeptics. The optimists seem to think the skeptics are cynical and paranoid and threaten progress. The skeptics think optimists are naive and “on hopium”… and threaten progress.

This isn’t new.

There seems to be something about being “within reach,” like there’s an invisible finish line that we’re almost across. We’re in a bit of a frenzy about it. Right now the finish line is getting RFK Jr. confirmed. We appear to believe that’s the only way to Make America Healthy Again.

And I get it. Stakes are high. It certainly does seem to be our best shot and we’ve never come this close… to being part of the broken system we kind of want to dismantle. It’s a weird time. I’m a little confused about it.

All of this is reminding me of the excitement and panic surrounding the Battle of Trenton 2.0, when parents worked together to save New Jersey’s religious exemption from required vaccination just over 5 years ago.

Happy Anniversary, New Jersey!

There must be something about being so close to victory, or defeat, that tweaks our nervous systems and makes us acutely aware of how things might get derailed. We definitely weren’t immune to it back then either.

We had been working so hard for so long, we felt that we were holding the line for the rest of the country.... and we were soooooo close to a win. Or a devastating loss.

I remember lots of conversations about “being respectful.” I remember working hard to temper our passions around the issues because we all knew that local media was poised to frame us as “unhinged” or “militant.” I remember smiling and biting my tongue. There were definitely different opinions about the approach, but we were doing our best to pull it together and make room.

There was plenty of horse trading behind the scenes and tip toeing in the foreground. At one point, the idea of grandfathering in families with existing exemptions was floated. And then an amendment to allow exemptions for private schools. At another point, a legislator who acknowledged issues with vaccine injury, who repeatedly asserted he was on our side, threatened to change his vote if we didn’t “back off.”

Everyone had different ideas about the best way to win the day. Some were reluctant to tarnish hard-earned relationships. Others were ready to burn it all down (so to speak). We were all strategizing because we had witnessed the game and figured we had to outmaneuver them. Maybe we did to a degree.

We had also watched California and New York fall despite the valiant efforts of health freedom advocates and we were panicked. At least I was.

Tipping points are pretty dizzying. They’re so unstable. The uncertainty became pretty acute and I remember a few people trembling or crying in the hallways.

But there’s one moment I come back to all the time.

It was well into the evening on December 16, 2019. We had occupied the State House all day, and by this point security had essentially closed off access around the doors of the Senate chambers. They didn’t want us “harassing” legislators on their way in or out and making a commotion, so they had cleared the vestibule and put up ropes. Security guards were stationed all around the staircases and entranceways, but a couple of us had managed to find our way into the space and were trying to remain inconspicuous. I remember laying low, trying very hard to be a good forward-facing advocate. Reasonable and well-behaved. There was also another advocate I knew, as well as a cluster of young girls from a dedicated orthodox community. A few others wandered through, but mainly it was us.

At one point, the other woman approached me and started speaking to me at a normal volume. I remember feeling triggered as her voiced echoed in the open space. I lowered my voice to respond, trying to signal for her to lower hers, but she wouldn’t. What was happening was not ok with her and she WANTED to be heard.

I grew more uncomfortable as she started repeating certain points, drawing the attention of security. I shrunk, and kind of stepped away. But she continued, kind of chanting her message alone. Her voice was echoing, and I could see the security guards getting agitated. (In my mind the stakes were about getting kicked out of the room. Why?)

I remember feeling irritated with her. She was going to “ruin it.” She was going to confirm that we were the crazy, unruly “anti-vaxxers” that people read about in local newspapers.

But then something interesting happened. The young girls started chanting along with their pure, sweet enthusiasm. This clearly put the guards into a panic, but they couldn’t bring themselves to berate or remove these young girls who were embodying “joyful effort” so powerfully. It was heart opening. So I joined them. And so did others, who had found their way into the hallway.

And the crowd grew.

Few people, even today, realize that it was this one woman, refusing to be quiet, that started the chants that ultimately “shook the building” and made it impossible for Senate proceedings to continue that day. And many had lamented about her in the past, for refusing to play by the rules. But on this day, to my mind, she made all the difference.

It’s not necessarily that hers was the “right” strategy or that other methods might not have worked just as well. It’s that something organic and heartfelt started rippling and building momentum.

It was crazy to me that something that I would never have done, that I would have prevented if I could have, that I thought would ruin our chances, was likely the thing that saved the day.

I ALWAYS think of this.

At that time, I got caught up in a moment of trying to apply a winning strategy - thinking about the image of “the movement” (I know…I’m cringing) and staying in the good graces of politicians (cringing more) and apparently security guards. I was all up in my head and had zero access to my heart. Until those girls started chanting.

Sometimes giving the mind control is like giving a politician control. Too much wielding of that control. The heart can release it and allow for better outcomes that the mind can’t see.

That was how I think the Battle of Trenton was won. We couldn’t have planned it. In some ways we were all too uncooperative - though we tried our best. You can say, on the one hand, that the day was just the culmination of all of the efforts leading up to it. And that’s also true. But behind many those efforts were similarly organic and inspired moments. On one level or another we all had to balance pushing back with surrendering and we somehow created a resonance that pulled us all together. It was really a magical thing that happened between some of the strongest wills on the planet.

So, while I definitely have some reservations about some of the things that are happening within health freedom/MAHA/the administration (I don’t even know what to call the evolving community we’re in right now), I’m hopeful. Given the hearts I know, whether we agree on a strategy or not, I feel pretty confident we’ll find a resonance again when the time comes. And when the other times come.

I think we’re having some growing pains together. Because we’re growing up together.

I am not going to pretend I’m not anxious about all of the bumps I anticipate on this learning curve, but I’m ultimately hopeful about where things are headed.

Are you?