I Can’t Breathe

I am suffocating. Gasping for air. Every time I get close to the surface in anticipation of finally taking a deep breath, yet another trauma hits, piling on top of the already hefty heap, grabbing me by the ankles and relentlessly yanking me back down into the pitch black deep, despite my best efforts to fight for the oxygen that was just a few short inches away. My lungs are filling with water. My eyes are filling with tears. Is this what drowning feels like?

This pain is intense. Deep. And everywhere. I’m being brave and letting myself feel it instead of just pushing it down and shoving it away. But man. It hurts.

I started crying while walking to a nearby coffee shop this morning. It had been bubbling up for awhile. Building up over time. The March on Washington yesterday was a sun ray of hope in the midst of the ongoing tornado of evil and racism and confusion in this country. Then that was punctuated with the loss of Chadwick Boseman. A real live superhero who brought other Black icons like Jackie Robinson and James Brown and Thurgood Marshall to life. What a loss. What a life. What a legacy.

And all this atop of the growing number of murders of beautiful Black men who look like my husband and my father and my son. Murders so often committed by police officers. Police officers. Who have a mission to protect and to serve. But instead of protecting people who look like me, many of them do us irreversible harm. Many White people look at police officers and see someone trustworthy who makes them feel safer. Most Black people feel fear when they see a police officer, and become hyper aware of the possibility of bodily injury or death at the hands of the officer. This is not to say that all police officers are racist. But unfortunately, the heinous crimes of those officers who should not have been given the privilege of carrying a gun overshadow the cops who chose the profession for the right reasons.

It is horrible and terrifying and traumatizing to be a Black person witnessing this madness in this country. It instills fear in our hearts. And it is impossible to heal because just as the sutures from the latest trauma start to dissolve, the wound is ripped open all over again as the next video of a Black man being publically assassinated is posted on social media. Over and over and over again.

Please understand that Black people living in this country are enduring multiple layers of trauma upon trauma, also known as complex trauma. Consider this: Our ancestors were violently stripped from their native land, brought to this country against their will and forced into slavery, forced to live in subhuman conditions. They were beaten and raped and forcibly separated from their children and partners and other family members. Many White people owned Black people during slavery times. They taught their children and their grandchildren that Black people are less than, that White people are the purest people, God’s people. For many White people, these perspectives and beliefs did not suddenly end or change when slavery was abolished. As you may have noticed, they are still very much alive today.

As a result of how this country was established, White supremacy has been intricately woven into the fabric of this nation since its founding. Although slavery is now illegal and lynchings from trees are not quite as common, today’s White supremacy looks like Redlining practices that very intentionally forced and still keep people of color in neighborhoods with the fewest resources, and a judicial system that assumes innocent Black men are guilty and gives guilty White men the benefit of the doubt. These realities are all a result of this country systemically and intentionally marginalizing people of color so that White people can continue living in the advantage that they are accustomed to.

Just like not all police officers are guilty of murder, not all White people are guilty of actively marginalizing people of color. But White Privilege is a fact that is universal among White people in this country, and silence and passivity make you complicit in the problem. White people acknowledging their privilege is an important basic first step in calling out and fighting against the injustices that are so pervasive in this nation.

These murders occurring so often, the guilty parties so often being overlooked, or let off the hook, or even regarded as heroes – all of it is excruciating and exhausting and overwhelming, especially for Black people. Living in fear that the people that I love, or that I myself, will be pulled over for no reason and murdered by a racist cop is exhausting. Living in fear of going to a peaceful protest because I don’t want to be shot or teargassed should not be the reality of the situation, but it is. The fact that I see and hear “All Lives Matter” or “Blue Lives Matter” in response to “Black Lives Matter” – which is simply a plea to be treated as a human being with dignity who is worthy of life – is confusing and infuriating. Those of you who say that you don’t see color are a part of the problem. The discrepancies are blatantly clear.

Carrying the weight of these innumerable burdens while still going to work every day and dealing with the stressors there is a ridiculous ask. But one that every single working Black person in this country does every day, most of the time without complaining. We put a smile on at work, we stuff our feelings because we fear that no one else gets it and that we will be seen as an angry Black person if we are honest, and we just wait till the next time we can talk about it briefly with our Black friends and family.

I challenge you beautiful Black people to tell people how you’re really doing when they ask. Stop giving the company line of “I’m good” or “I’m fine” when you clearly are not. Stop hiding that you are not ok. Let’s stop contorting ourselves into all shapes at all angles to make other people comfortable. We haven’t been comfortable for a long time, and we need to stop putting other people’s comfort over our own reality and truth. I know that for some of you, there is a genuine and warranted fear of losing your job if you are honest about how you are really doing. Which is awful and should not be, and is also not surprising. I would also not encourage this kind of honesty and vulnerability if you do not have an emotionally safe space to do so (which I recognize that few of us do), because callous responses to your vulnerability can ultimately do more damage. But as much as you are able, be honest, first with yourself, and also with others.

If you are not a person of color, I challenge you to ask your colleagues how they are doing, how they are REALLY doing, and give them the space to share. Be open minded and patient and kind. Be courageous enough to step outside of yourself and think about what it might be like to live in this nation as a Black person, or person of another race. We are NOT ok. Don’t be like one of my former supervisors who earlier this week asked me how I was doing and then immediately kept talking. He didn’t even give me time to give him the company line. That communicates that you actually don’t care how I’m doing. It adds to the trauma.

This is a painful time. There is so much death and so much hate. All in the midst of a worldwide pandemic. It’s rough no matter how you slice it. Black people in this country have overcome ridiculous odds. We are Kings and Queens and we will continue to persevere. And we would appreciate being able to take a deep breath every once in a while.