Unapologetically Roma: A Journey of Restorative Healing and Revolutionary Self-Love

Introduction

As a young Roma feminist activist, my life is a constant push and pull between fighting for justice and struggling to keep my spirit intact. The world has never been kind to my people, and in this fight, I've often lost sight of myself. The fight against oppression is relentless. We confront systemic injustices, challenge ingrained prejudices, and often sacrifice our own well-being for the cause. But what happens when we turn that revolutionary lens inward? When we consider that our healing, our self-love, might be as crucial to the struggle as the protests and policies we fight for?

Attending the restorative healing workshop organized by the European Network Against Racism (ENAR) was a reminder—a wake-up call—that my existence, my joy, my pain, and my love are all acts of resistance. This wasn’t just a break from activism; it was a reawakening—a feminist reclamation of the self in a world that seeks to diminish us.

This is my story, not just as an activist, but as a Roma woman reclaiming her power, her identity, and her right to thrive.

Day 1: Self-Love as a Revolutionary Act

From the moment I stepped into the workshop, Nikki Giovanni’s words hung in the air like a challenge: “For only a happy people make successful revolution.”

But what does happiness look like when you’re Roma, when you’re a woman, when the world tells you every day that you’re not enough, that you must fit into “boxes” built by others? How do you learn to embrace your identities when society makes you feel invisible?

We talked about self-love—a concept that feels like a luxury when you’re fighting for basic rights. But as Audre Lorde said, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” As feminists, as women of color, as Roma, our existence is resistance. But how often do we forget that we cannot pour from an empty cup?

I realized that self-love for me isn’t only about bubble baths and spa days; it’s about surviving in a world that wants to erase me. It’s about looking in the mirror and saying, “Yes, my identity is valid. Yes, I am strong enough. Yes, I deserve to take up space.” It’s about rejecting the arrogance that comes from insecurity and embracing the confidence of someone who knows their worth.

The anger that fueled my activism—born from the erasure of Roma history, the silencing of Roma voices, and the systemic undervaluation of Roma women’s contributions and struggles—began to transform into something deeper. Love.

This fight is about love—love for my community, for my sisters who lift each other up when the world tries to drag us down. Love for the future we’re building, where young Roma girls can grow up knowing they are powerful, worthy, and beautiful. Activism, for me, became as natural as breathing—an expression of my authentic self.

Self-love isn’t easy. It means confronting the constant pressure to prove myself worthy, the need to demonstrate that I can achieve as much as, if not more than, those who benefit from privilege. It means grappling with the system that oppresses us by exhausting us, especially if you are a woman and a feminist. It’s about fighting against the doubts that tell me I have to work twice as hard to be seen as equal.

It means forgiving myself for buying into those lies, for ever doubting myself. Forgiving myself for the times I felt I wasn’t enough and embracing the struggle as part of a larger battle. It’s a battle, but it’s one I’m committed to winning—for myself and for every Roma woman who’s ever felt like she wasn’t enough.

Day 2: The Complexities of Community

Community is a word that carries weight. For me, it’s both a source of strength and a burden. It’s where I find my roots, but it’s also where I encounter expectations that can feel impossible to meet.

In the workshop, we did an exercise where we drew each other without lifting our pens or looking at the paper. It was supposed to be fun (and it was), but it stirred something deep inside me. As I sat there, being drawn by someone else, I felt exposed in a way that was unsettling. I wasn’t just worried about how I would look on paper—I was worried about being seen for who I really am. As a Roma woman, I’ve spent so much of my life trying to prove my worth, to defy the stereotypes that people impose on us. But here, I was just me—no filters, no defenses.

When it was my turn to draw, I hesitated. What if I didn’t capture the essence of the person in front of me? What if I disappointed them? This fear is something I carry into my community work, too. I worry about letting my people down, about not being "Roma enough" to represent them. But through this exercise, I began to understand that community is about more than meeting expectations—it’s about being present, being vulnerable, and allowing ourselves to be seen in all our complexity.

My relationship with my community has always been complicated and shaped by the stereotypes imposed on us by a society that devalues our identity. I’ve struggled with feelings of not belonging because these stereotypes—perpetuated by outsiders—have been internalized within our own community. It’s not about whether others see me as Roma, but rather how these external misconceptions have influenced how we view ourselves.

I’m light-skinned, and I don’t speak Romanes fluently, but both my parents are Roma, I know I am Roma. And still, I’ve struggled with feeling like an outsider, not just in the world but within my own community.

However, this workshop reminded me that being Roma isn’t about fitting a mold. It’s about shared experiences, about our collective grief and resilience. It’s about embracing the parts of ourselves that don’t always fit and recognizing that our diversity is our strength. It reminded me that we must keep rejecting the narrow, harmful expectations imposed on us by a society that seeks to diminish our worth.

We ended the day with a grief-tending circle, acknowledging the pain we carry as individuals and as a community. Untended grief can tear us apart, but when we face it together, we heal not just ourselves but our entire community. I realized that my grief is not mine to bear alone. It’s a collective burden, and together, we can transform it into something powerful.

Day 3: Imagining a New Future

The final day of the workshop was about dreaming beyond the limitations imposed on us. As Roma, as women, as activists, we’re constantly told what we can’t do, what we can’t be. But Octavia Butler’s words rang true: “All that you touch, you change. All that you change, changes you.” We have the power to create the reality we want to live in.

I made a commitment to myself that day—to prioritize my well-being, to set boundaries, to surround myself with people who respect my worth. This isn’t about turning my back on the struggle; it’s about ensuring I have the strength to continue it. As Meenadchi, the author of "Decolonizing Non-Violent Communication," said, “If you find yourself up against a tough reality, create a reality beyond that.”

We engaged in dream mapping, a practice that felt both liberating and terrifying. I identified my needs—not just as an activist, but as a person. I began to imagine what it would look like to meet those needs, to live in a world where I don’t have to justify my existence, where my identity is celebrated.

Conclusion

This workshop was more than just a healing retreat; it was a reclamation. A reclamation of my identity, my power, and my right to exist unapologetically. As a young Roma feminist activist, I know the road ahead is long and fraught with challenges. But I also know that my love, my grief, my dreams are all acts of resistance.

We live in a world that seeks to tear us down, to erase our stories, our identities. But in caring for ourselves, in loving each other, we build something that cannot be destroyed. Our love is revolutionary. Our healing is political. And our future is ours to shape.