Why Should Advocacy Be Joyful?

This week we're getting personal about the feelings - good and bad - that come with being an advocate, why joy matters, and how to build towards it even when everything is on fire

Almost immediately after choosing “Joyful Advocacy” for my blog name, I lost the urge to write here. Despite my commitment to a more positive, sustainable advocacy practice, I just wasn’t feeling it the last couple weeks, because… well, you know. And because I wasn’t feeling it, I doubted my ability to promote it to others.

But bringing joy to advocacy is one of those things that is even more important when things are hard. It’s a deliberate, and often difficult, practice. And sometimes, practicing joy does require head-on confrontation of other, less-fun emotions, like fear, anger, and grief.

Ask how I know…

Everyone has different paths to becoming an advocate. Mine was completely practical: bad things were happening to people I knew and loved, and I didn’t like it.

As an autistic kid, I gravitated towards other people who didn’t fit in. Most of my friends were autistic; a few had other disabilities. The world wasn’t structured to meet our needs, but we supported each other, and that was enough for most of us, and I didn’t really think about how our problems were structural until I reached college. That was, for my crowd at least, when our support systems fell apart dramatically. My friends (including some who were still in high school) were cycling in and out of hospitalizations, with minimal or no support in between. Friends’ parents, also with disabilities, were also facing the same problems. And then, of course, there was the active discrimination against anyone who was viewed as struggling or isolated - this was only a few years after the Columbine massacre.

I was angry, scared and desperate. I wanted my friends to be okay, but I was powerless to fix the systems that were hurting them. So I scrapped my plans to get a PhD in psychology and went to law school instead.

I powered my way through law school through pure spite. And then I used whatever spite was left over to power my way through the first few years of my advocacy career. But the long slog of advocacy, the predictable setbacks, the feelings of frustration at the long timelines for change, all got to me. And then, of course, there was the grief that came with watching my colleagues die - many as a result of the same systemic problems they were fighting.

Worse, I started resenting the same people I had dedicated my life to protecting. Because my experience of advocacy was mostly one of anger and indignation, I felt that I had sacrificed my chances for professional happiness for their welfare. I stewed about the more fun - or at least financially remunerative - career paths I could have taken. I was developing a martyr complex, and it was hurting my most treasured relationships.

But wasn’t that anger motivating?

Sure it was - until my spite reserves ran out. And yours will too. Believe me - if anyone was capable of generating unlimited spite, it would have been me! When those spite reserves run out, you will burn out unless you find an alternative fuel source.

I also have found that it wasn’t conducive to effective advocacy. Advocacy requires working collaboratively with others. If you’re constantly angry, it’s genuinely hard to show the qualities that make you a good collaborator: patience, empathy, collegiality, and ability to see the best in people. Especially when the people you’re trying to work with don’t do what you want them to do, or don’t agree with you on important policy issues, or just get on your nerves.

Combine a lot of angry advocates together, and the situation gets even worse. Conflicts can’t de-escalate. People can’t problem-solve and understand each other. People blow up at their allies, and then when called on it, accuse their allies of “tone policing” or playing respectability politics. Factions develop and people stop working together. The community eats itself and its power evaporates.

Finally, I don’t think we can lose sight of the fact that this kind of suffering among advocates matters in and of itself. Even if being miserable all the time did make you a better advocate, it wouldn’t be okay for anyone to expect that of you - including yourself. You’re trying to make the world a better place, right? So why not also make it a better place for you to live in as well?

Sure, but I can’t just not be angry! I mean, look at what’s going on!

Anger is a normal human emotion. It’s impossible to never be angry. But you still don’t have to always be angry, or even be angry most of the time. Even now.

Around the same time that I started burning out, another advocate friend of mine - a reproductive rights lawyer whom I’d met in law school - decided that she hated being a lawyer and she was going to be a life coach instead. She’s now incredibly successful (you can check out her website and podcast here!), but I had the fortune of getting some coaching sessions with her early on, and one thing stuck with me:

Your circumstances - that is, the objective reality around you - don’t cause your feelings.

This is genuinely hard to accept, especially for advocates. We’re just so used to looking at the world around us and immediately jumping to judgments about it - often negative judgments. We struggle to separate our own opinions of the world (and how it fails to meet our standards) from the world itself. And we also struggle to reorient ourselves towards the things we like about the world, that make us happy.

But it’s clearly possible for people to be happy in the world we live in, because plenty of people are already doing it! Some of those just aren’t focused on changing the world. Others are - but they’re getting their way right now, and are likely pretty thrilled with the direction the world’s going in. And others are advocates who have figured out how to enjoy what they do, and also how to check out and enjoy regular life when they’re “off the clock.”

Okay… how do I do that?

I’ll skip most of the “self-care” basics, not because they’re not important, but because I feel like people have already been talking about it for ages. Yes, go feed yourself, exercise, and get enough sleep (when you can). See a therapist if you have one available to you and find therapy useful. Spend time on fun hobbies. Limit time on social media, if you find yourself “doomscrolling.” Absolutely.

But there’s more to it. Joyful advocacy requires you to find joy in advocacy - not just in the time you’re spending on self-care.

Work with people you like, and like the people you work with

Whether you’re a weekend activist or a professional, you’re going to end up running into people who are a joy to work with, and people who make you want to claw your eyes out. Make a deliberate effort to cultivate those relationships with people who bring you joy. Don’t just ignore those feelings because “what’s important is the work.” Your work will be better when you’re working with people you like.

Of course, you may not be able to totally avoid working with people who annoy you. When that happens, it can help to a deliberate effort to cultivate positive feelings and empathy. What was their path to advocacy? Are there elements in that story that you relate to? What are their hobbies and interests - any that you share? Do they have cute pets or kids?

There are some people in the world who, even after engaging in this kind of exercise, you’ll decide are just not worth the trouble. Perhaps they’ve consistently undermined your efforts, they’ve espoused such noxious opinions as to be radioactive, or you simply can’t trust them. In that case, definitely don’t work with them - but also, don’t spend too much of your time thinking about how terrible they are. It’s not worth it.

Have at least some “winnable” short-term goals.

There’s a lot of disagreement among advocates as to whether we should be working toward “incremental” change or radical restructuring of the world around us. I would probably be considered an incrementalist, personally - but whatever your orientation, you need to win sometimes in order to be happy.

If you don’t let yourself believe that you’ve “won” until we are living in a post-capitalist utopia where oppression has been eliminated and everyone’s needs are met, you will never get that crucial dopamine spike that comes from self-perceived success. That will be sad for you, and it also will make you stop trying to actually succeed. You may think you’re trying, but really you’ll be doing what makes you feel better, not what is actually calculated to achieve results.

Choose your “winnable” goals wisely. Don’t over-focus on what I’d call “social” goals (getting people to sign a petition, getting likes and follows, getting a politician to make a statement). Focus on goals that actually make a difference to people on the ground. That could include:

1. Be part of a successful campaign that actually achieves, or prevents, a real policy goal - like raising your local minimum wage, fighting against state-level budget cuts for disability services, etc.

2. Raise money for an organization that is achieving concrete change.

3. Organize volunteers to help people in your community.

4. Work to elect a candidate at any level - neighborhood council, school board, state legislature, Congress - what matters is that you actually feel you made a difference to the campaign and you believe that the candidate will meaningfully help people.

Enjoy your wins.

It’s almost cliche at this point for people announcing a big “win” to follow it up with “but there’s still so much more work to do,” then list all the other problems that need to be solved. Of course they’re right - I doubt anyone really thinks that the outcome of a particular policy fight will solve all the world’s problems, and if they do then they’re deeply unserious.

But you still need to resist the temptation to emotionally skip right past the satisfaction of having won something. Actually celebrate. Have a party. Eat some cake. And to the extent possible, share your joy with others - especially the others who helped make your project successful. Tell them how much you appreciate them. Spend some time thinking about the people whose lives will now be better.

If people show up to your celebration (or celebratory social media post) to talk about how actually, this is just a drop in the bucket of a larger pool of suffering, and likely some bad actors will find a way to undermine everything anyway, gently tell them to bug off. You are off the clock for that kind of BS until your party is over. You’ve earned it.

Build a positive vision - for yourself and the world.

There are so many people in the disability rights world who I admire and respect - some are people I work with a lot, and others are people whose work I follow with intense admiration. These are the people who you look at and think “I want to be that kind of advocate.” Focusing on the people you admire can, in itself, be intensely grounding.

I’ve also found that the people I admire the most, also have a clear vision for what they think the world should look like. That vision is concrete and includes short-term and long-term progress. Sam Bagenstos - one of those people I admire - wrote about this really effectively in his recent blog post:

We need to formulate “a portrait of the present and a vision of the future.” Part of that effort will involve defending institutions under existential attack. But we need to weave that defense into a portrait of why those institutions are so important–they represent the efforts of the people, coming together democratically, to provide for basic provisions and protections that individuals can’t provide on their own–and a vision of how we will make them better, and eliminate their real flaws, in the world we are seeking.

It’s not enough to simply phrase this vision in terms of principles like equality, inclusion, or anti-racism. Really get specific. Instead of “get rid of inequalities in school,” think “restructure school district financing so that people’s zip code doesn’t determine their future” and “devote real resources to identifying and eliminating the causes of educational disparities.” Instead of “everyone lives in the community,” think “restructure Medicaid to eliminate institutional bias and prioritize funding towards community-based services.” Communicate your vision to others, build consensus, and make sure that your short- and long-term advocacy is centered on that vision.

I get that it’s hard.

Like I said at the beginning, I was just not feeling it for the last few weeks. That’s going to happen to everyone sometimes, and that’s okay. What’s important is that I didn’t simply decide that my funk was the “correct” way to respond to the world. I was sad, but I tried to at least remain open to the possibility of feeling better again. And then, with some time and gentle self-coaching, I did. Every day still has ups and downs, but at least the ups are still there.

I want that for you, and for our movements. Take some time to build your joy this week.