My Social Justice Origin Story — Warrior Healing Arts

I wish there was one specific moment I could point to when pondering my social justice origin story. But, perhaps some can relate to experiencing a slow series of realizations, insights, heartbreaks, and the endless cycle of unlearning, untangling, and re-weaving that comes with pulling at the threads of humanity’s most complex and contradictory proclivities.

Thread Between Worlds
I always felt like I lived in two worlds growing up. One at home, where my ethnically blended family, although full of love, felt foreign to me. And one in the wider world, where, despite my diverse and eclectic city and school, I felt like an outcast and rebel. This sense of not belonging, whether in my family or in the world around me, shaped a part of me that never fully felt settled, accepted or integrated. With that inner and outer rejection, I started developing a deep disdain for conformity and the pursuit of popularity at a relatively young age.

The Protector Archetype
Despite these intermittent feelings of disconnection, I remember my home being a sanctuary for neighborhood kids experiencing abuse at home. I can still see the belt marks on my friends’ backs. Stove burns on their hands. Scars from metal hangers on their legs. I grew up in systemically disenfranchised neighborhoods, and although there was a lot of fun and community, there was also a lot of pain and dysfunction. My mom was such a safe place for others. I think I got a lot of that protector archetype from her, along with a deep desire to love and help others who were suffering.

Rebelling Against Rebellion
As I got older and became more rebellious toward social norms, I found myself drawn to those who were also seemingly cast out by society’s expectations—the punks, goths, metalheads, nerds, and those who questioned authority. I resonated with their rejection of the status quo. I felt the same angst, wanted to create art from pain, and desired to push back against arbitrary class etiquette. But even within those circles, I felt the need to rebel against the rebellion itself. I wanted to show that it was possible to reject the rigid confines of social norms while still valuing our minds, our education, and the things that made us more than just the labels others put on us. I was a metal head and honor roll student, arrested at 14 but also a teachers pet, a stoner with a 4.0 GPA.

Borders of Privilege
In high school, I once again found myself in between two worlds. Living in Inglewood yet going to school in Burbank (yes I was there “illegally”). The long drive down La Brea Ave every morning always showed me so much. How the streets changed along with the infrastructure and types of people. Even though I could see the socioeconomic differences, I was still offended when classmates would assume I lived in “the hood,” as if my neighborhood was nothing more than a stereotype, and loved bringing people over to see how normal it was. Not to say I didn’t pay attention to which streets were safe to walk down alone, which cross sections to avoid, what time to go out, and when to stay in. Inglewood taught me everything I know about street smarts and paying attention to my surroundings. But all in all, it was a peaceful place to grow up. I often felt bad for those who had never stepped outside their carefully controlled Burbank bubble. Where buttoned-up rigidity, money, and authority reigned supreme. At the same time, I was grateful for my schools infrastructure and the education I received. In between worlds, not fully in either, always oscillating.

Popping The American Bubble
I first traveled out of the country in my senior year of high school—to Spain and Morocco. I loved both places, but coming back from Morocco… I was different. The people and the culture were so rich, but the economic disparity was difficult to witness. A few years later, I traveled to the Philippines for the first time, my father’s homeland. I knew it would be a culture shock, but I had no idea how deeply it would affect me. When I arrived, I cried, feeling overwhelmed and alone. But when I left, I cried again, this time with a newfound sense of love and connection to the people and the community. I kept asking myself, how can people have so little (materially speaking), yet possess so much? Meanwhile, in the States, people seem to have everything and yet nothing at the same time. I realized the American bubble is hard to pop—but I’m so glad I did at such a young age.

Power and Intersectionality
After high school, my ties to Burbank diminished. My homes of Venice and Inglewood were where I wandered. And questioned myself. And grew. I started working in various restaurants where what I now realize was the weight of the the ruling class (abusive bosses) came down on the worker bees. Despite most people being of the same ethnic background, wow did I still see the disparity in power. I always bonded with the cooks and cleaners. The waiters and runners. They gave me food and we talked shit about the man on top. To this day, I refuse to work for others in a hierarchical setting and can’t stand people who treat human beings like “the help.” Not on my watch. I have since then studied and come to greatly appreciate the intersectionality framework, as it reminds me we all hold varying and sometimes conflicting identities of both power and privilege.

Lessons in Humility and Respect
In my early 20s, I began working at Simply Wholesome, a Black-owned health food store in Windsor Heights, not far from my home in Inglewood. Ahead of its time, it pushed back against fast food culture (intentional food apartheid) and health disparities by offering fresh food, holistic medicine, and a safe space for community engagement. I was the only white-passing worker there at the time and it was an important and humbling experience for me to be the minority of an establishment during my formative years. Simply Wholesome was, and still is, home to over 100 Black owned business brands, a hub for entrepreneurs of color, and a container for people to build networks of collaboration. I met so many powerful and downright mystical people. Artists and musicians who held my hand as they shared more of their world with me - the beautiful, the historic, and the heart-wrenchingly tragic. Here is where I grew my love for reggae, nutrition and herbalism along with activism and exceeding levels of rage towards these omnipotent systems of harm and neglect.

Who is Wellness for?
So many moments, small and large, have shaped my evolving perspective on privilege and oppression. Attending Native American powwows as a teenager, learning about centuries of colonization, resistance and struggle. Working in a functional medicine clinic in Santa Monica, witnessing the stark contrast between the wealthy (and mostly white) clients who spent thousands on supplements and fancy tests, while a for-profit and predatory healthcare system denies the majority of Americans access to the basics of health and wellness. Practicing martial arts and researching the various warriors through out history who have incorporated social justice efforts into their practice. Observing the surge in health misinformation during a worldwide pandemic, where vulnerable communities were once again blamed for their lack of access to healthy lifestyles and succumbing to such “preventable” disease. Witnessing the rise of conspiracy theories as they blended with “spirituality” and fostered a dangerous mix of supremacy and eugenics, promoting exclusionary ideologies under the brand of enlightenment and personal awakening. Noticing how the fusion of harmful ideologies in spiritual and wellness spaces mirrored my own struggles with perfectionism, disordered eating, and mental health, and coming to see how these industries perpetuate harmful ideals and reinforce systems of superiority, while presenting themselves as solutions to the issues they help create.

A Buddhist Monk clashes with riot police in Thailand, 2022

History Doesn’t Repeat, But It Does Rhyme
While progress has been made through grassroots efforts and revolutionary leadership, I sometimes fear things have only worsened on a larger scale. The assault on trans people, queer communities, the elderly, the disabled, neurodivergent individuals, Black and Indigenous people, immigrants, women, and those living in poverty or incarceration has intensified immensely under an administration highly skilled at eroding critical thought while stoking fear and hatred. The wellness industry has boomed, yet continues to ignore the real social determinants of disease—poverty, systemic neglect, and lack of access to basic needs. From the expansion of Guantánamo Bay for so-called illegal immigrants to the rise of 'Cop Cities' militarizing police against their own communities, the state’s commitment to punitive cruelty continues to escalate. Christian nationalist rhetoric tightens its grip, rebranding fascism as patriotism, while new laws and bills flood in daily, eroding bodily autonomy, silencing dissent, and rewriting history to appease fragile sensibilities about our shared past—while books on compassion, inclusivity, and science are added to ban lists. Corporate profits soar, even as the planet buckles under the weight of human greed and consumption, deepening a climate crisis not met with solutions or unity, but with denial and resource hoarding. And perhaps most frustrating of all is the rampant complicity and nonchalance of those who can’t be bothered to care, act, or even acknowledge the fire burning around them. Around us.

The Cliques Never Ended
All of this has me asking - Is this just high school again? Where the healthy, able-bodied, conventionally attractive, and culturally dominant are like the popular kids—ruling over everyone else while wondering why people are complaining? Are the man-o-sphere biohacker health podcast bros, tech millionaires, trad wife content creators, and wellness influencers today’s 'cool' kids, sneering at those with larger bodies, disabilities, accents, nontraditional career paths, marginalized identities, or anyone who doesn't fit their narrow ideal of success?

But alas, I’m done with that cycle. Or perhaps, leaning into what I’ve always done - saying fuck you to exclusive ideologies and hierarchies. I will say though, I am finally, and gratefully, reaching a new nexus of ultimate DGAF and empowered indifference. I no longer feel the need to prove myself or control how others perceive me. I have, and always will, stand for human rights and equality. If you hold an identity that has historically benefited from the oppression of others, I will push you to reflect on your proximity to social power. If you have a strong stance on something, I will sweep at your legs and see if you still stand. Because if you have something to say, I want you to say it with your full chest. And I’ll say it with mine.

Giving All and No Fucks, At The Same Time
My journey so far has been about navigating alienation, only to find empowerment in my ability to care for and protect those who, like me, have been excluded. Those who are left out of society, plagued by perfectionism, and targeted by entities who seek unchecked power. And now, I stand committed to push back against those forces, working to create space where we can all exist unapologetically and have what we need to thrive. Some people call me radical, overly opinionated, and confrontational. But I’m coming to terms with the fact that those people, aren’t my people. If you aren’t constantly looking around and witnessing the injustices of the world without asking what you can do to make it even a little better, you aren’t my people. If you don’t have a bleeding heart and desire to heal it while supporting others in liberation, you aren’t my people. If you don’t have the ability to reflect on your implicit biases and ponder how others might live in the world differently yet deserve dignity and acceptance nonetheless - you aren’t my people.

But if you’ve read this far, perhaps you are my people. And I’m honored to be here with you.

Love and Liberation,
Joelle