Just thoughts

I haven’t been able to keep up with the website much over the past few weeks, and chances are, updates will remain a bit scattered in the months to come. Between being disabled, a student, a parent, working a full-time 9-to-5, and traveling for work, my time and energy are stretched thin. I'm doing my best to juggle everything, but lately, that balance has felt more like a slow unraveling.

Last week, I was in Washington, D.C. for a training — my third trip to the city in the past year. I’ve been there in July, February, and now again in early spring. Each visit has felt heavier than the last. There’s something different in the air. Since the current administration took over, there’s been a noticeable shift — a kind of quiet unease that lingers in government buildings and seeps into conversations. Last week, it was especially palpable.

I spent several days in a government facility that had recently gone through mass layoffs. Security protocols were tighter than usual, and the atmosphere was tense. Many of the staff I encountered — people I’ve met before, either in person or virtually — were subdued, just trying to make it through the day. There was a visible weight on them. These weren’t just jobs being lost; these were livelihoods, entire departments gutted, years of work unraveled by funding cuts and political agendas.

When Cruelty Is the Point

There’s a video I saw recently that put words to a feeling I’ve been carrying for a long time. It said: “For these people, cruelty is the point. Cruelty is so much of the point that they don’t care if it takes them to their graves.”

That line hasn’t left me.

I was raised in the evangelical church — I’m an exvangelical now — and I grew up hearing messages of love, grace, and kindness. I was taught that we were called to serve others, to be peacemakers, to love without condition. But over the past decade, I’ve watched many of the same people who preached those values cheer for cruelty, turn their backs on the vulnerable, and justify harm in the name of “morality.”

At first, I wanted to believe it was fear. Or ignorance. Or maybe even misinformation. But that explanation doesn’t hold up anymore. The truth is harsher: they were never good people. They just knew how to mask it — until someone told them they didn’t have to anymore.

Doing the right thing because “Jesus is watching” doesn’t make you good. It makes you afraid. And love that’s born out of fear? That’s not love. That’s coercion. And when coercion becomes the guiding force in a belief system, it doesn’t just stop at controlling behavior. It becomes fertile ground for hatred. It justifies cruelty. It breeds authoritarianism.

The Cost of Hatred

Not long before my trip, I found myself reading through Facebook comments on a post about state-level job cuts, prompted by reductions in federal funding. What I saw was jarring — people cheering the layoffs, tossing around phrases like “trimming the fat,” as though they were talking about cutting out dessert, not dismantling programs that serve our communities.

All I could think was: You have no idea what you’re cheering for.

These aren’t faceless government workers sitting in ivory towers. These are people working in public health, education, transportation, rural infrastructure. These are programs that help families get healthcare, that provide clean drinking water, that ensure kids in rural schools have the same opportunities as kids in the suburbs. And we won’t see the full impact of these cuts for several years — not until it's too late to reverse course.

The hardest part is knowing that some people simply don’t care. Or worse, they do understand, and they support the devastation anyway.

The Disintegration of Dialogue

Lately, I’ve noticed more and more conservatives dismissing protests and activism entirely. They say peaceful protests are a waste of time. They demonize disruptive protests. And they refuse to engage in actual conversation or debate. So what’s left?

If peaceful protest isn’t acceptable, and civil discourse isn’t acceptable, and more forceful tactics are villainized, then what’s really being asked for isn’t unity or peace. It’s silence. It’s obedience. That’s not democracy. That’s the foundation of fascism.

This isn’t just political theory. It’s real. It’s here. And we’re watching it unfold in real time.

Crocheting Through the Storm

Despite everything — the exhaustion, the grief, the fear — I’ve still been designing crochet squares. It’s one of the few things grounding me lately. I haven’t had much time to actually sit down and crochet them all, but I’ve got several patterns drafted and ready to go. Shoutout to my incredible pattern testers who are bringing those designs to life even when I haven’t had the chance to myself. You’re the reason I can keep moving forward creatively.

Crochet might seem small compared to everything else happening in the world, but to me, it matters. There’s something deeply healing about turning chaos into something tangible. Stitch by stitch, loop by loop, creating something soft and real in a world that too often feels hard and cruel.

It reminds me that there’s still beauty. There’s still resilience. And even when everything feels like it’s coming apart — there are still things we can make with our hands, still ways to connect, still things that bind us.

I don’t have a neat bow to wrap this all up with. No clean ending or call to action. Just this: I’m here. I’m doing my best. I’m angry. I’m tired. But I’m still showing up — for myself, for others, for this community.

And if you’re here too — angry, tired, and still standing — I see you.

Keep going. Keep crocheting. Keep fighting.

-SJ

P.S. If you're here for the crochet — thank you for your patience. Most of my square updates and new designs are being posted on Ravelry right now so be sure to follow me there if you want to stay in the loop. I’ll keep doing what I can, when I can.

And as always — thank you for being here.