Be The Light!
ORIGINAL POST 06/21/20
I have written so many things within my life about the black POV of living in America. For some reason, putting things into words this time was more painful than normal.
Maybe because every single time I jot something down, nothing changes. I’m retelling the same story that I have already told countless of times.
As a black child you are exposed to graphic information early on. “It’s your history” they’ll tell you, and they’re not wrong. Their is no way to sugarcoat black American history. It’s dark and has very little happy endings. It’s not the same fairy tale stories that white children would hear. No princess, no castles, and no dragons. Instead it’s chains, screams, cargo boats, mutilation, and families being separated forever. It’s a horror story to say the least.
You’re exposed to so many black bodies undergoing extreme torture that it’s burned in your brain for all to come. You’ll never forget your first lesson on slavery and how harsh people can be to one another. You’ll be taught that we as black people had everything stripped away from us, we lost our kingdom, our true faith, our families, and our freedom. It is ingrained in us that in order to get back half of what we lost we have to be twice as good as everyone.
It’s hard to process it all. It’s hard to see the light in everyday, especially when you see the same horror story you were told as a child play out in modern day.
For me personally, I struggled with depression early on. Everything really hit when I was around six or seven. I was a very perceptive child and picked up on prejudice undertones immediately. I noticed that when people would meet me or look at me that they would notice that I was black first and a small child second. I knew that they assumed I had a single mother and had no idea who my father is. I knew that they would assume that I couldn’t articulate my words and most likely had an attitude. Whenever they stopped analyzing my skin and spoke to me it was always “WOW! You speak really well” and all preconceived notions of me disappeared. I always, always noticed the backhanded compliments and prejudice undertones.
Fast forward twenty years and I’m still living through the same trauma as my people before me. I’m still seeing the same horror story play out, sometimes it’s family members losing their lives, one time it hit so close to home that it was my father who lost his life. Attempting to even be the light in times of such darkness is nearly impossible. I think back on the stories I was told as a child and remember that I must remain resilient, that I have no other option. It’s hard not to wonder if I go for a drive, or a run, or hang out with friends if it will be me next. To be truthfully honest, I’ve came close to facing police brutality head on a few times. I am lucky enough to live to tell about it and to share my story.
I truly pray that with the riots and devastation across the nation that people will take the time to learn. To see that not seeing black lives as equal is wrong. To see that racism has crippled the American people. I pray that my future children will grow up in a world where they don’t have insecurities of being black and are able to be safe in the country they call home.
I’ll share a word of advice that my mother gave to me. “Be the change that you want to see in the world and always stand up for what you believe in, even if you’re standing by yourself. Have courage.”
We all can get through this as long as we all do it together and as always be the light.
