Most of all, I was angry all the time. Angry for righteous political reasons, but also because I'd rejected so much of what makes a long life beautiful and bearable. Usually my anger expressed itself subtly and indirectly (re-read Parts One and Two of this book), but you've also seen it on full display, from my hysterical shrieking about [the theft of] my clothes at Freedom House in Mississippi in 1965, to my tossing Sandra's suitcase out my door in 2005.

And not to cast stones, but I was often surrounded in this book by equally "dedicated," equally "selfless," equally obsessed, and equally angry activists. There is no way around it. No matter how dire the political situation may seem to us, we must take the time to become decent and whole human beings if we want to truly change things for the better. … Only by making a conscious effort to heal ourselves—be it through church services and groups, spiritual practice, individual or group therapy, community volunteer work, deep apolitical friendships, or some lovely combination of these—can we supposedly visionary and healing activists ever gain the capacity to take this n