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“Hi there, I am looking for Grace, have you seen her around lately? I heard she hangs around here and offers her services to anyone who asks, but I can’t seem to find her. I have been looking for her, not only for myself but for other people I know can use her help. If you see her, could you send her my way?” These days ‘Grace’ has become an ethereal mythical being that is elusive and is masterful at remaining hidden. More than ever we need her. We need her to allow ourselves permission to feel all of our emotions with reckless abandon. We need her to show that empathy towards our fellow man is possible.

I believe that grace was more readily available at some point, but through extenuating circumstances she became an anomaly, almost a tall tale that we speak of her as a fairy tale character. When phrases such as the ‘strong Black woman’ or ‘Grace under fire’ have become badges of honor, it does not seem possible that these two phenomena can co-exist. The premise of being strong has become equivalent with being void of emotion and finding grace has become a scavenger hunt that never ends. We have been systematically indoctrinated to push through in spite of any and all circumstances. Our very existence in the country is laced in showing no signs of emotional weakness although the expression of emotions is a biological autonomic response.

It is very telling that only until the concept of “self-care” became a Tic Toc trend and social media hashtag during the pandemic, did the notion of emotional expression in minorities become an acceptable and viable option. Our emotional IQs have become so dismissed and diluted that we have lost our ability to self-regulate our stress responses. We have to now rely on medications and therapy as tools to relearn coping mechanisms that were innately given to us at the time of our creation. Infants are able to self-soothe if all of their biological needs are met, yet as adults we are unable to do the same. We have to redevelop and strengthen our emotional muscles in order for grace to come into our lives. If grace is allowed to become a part of our supporting cast, we will also be able to find safe spaces in which to process through our emotional stressors in real-time without guilt or shame. Unfortunately, our modus operandi has become to suppress and push through with an occasional pressure release. Much like the valve on our InstaPots, we release enough steam so that there is not a total implosion. This gives us enough room to ‘survive’ another day. These pressure releases take on the form of an occasional tongue lashing or a good ole cry. Although it feels better for a moment, the underlying issues still percolate under the surface like a ticking time bomb. To get to the root of it, this usually requires stripping back layers and layers of trauma through extensive rehab and treatment for either our physical or mental health.

The concept of the strong Black woman has caused a pandemic of emotionally eroded women who are barely hanging on by a thread. For our spouses, children, bosses and co-workers we remain polished and coiffed on the outside, as we feel there is no time to deal with our stuff. We have made our love language putting ourselves last. It is now a cultural norm to shame those that may be depressed or anxious. Like perfectly programmed robots, we tout that we are fine with wishful expectations we have convinced others we are telling the truth and more importantly we hope to convince ourselves. We believe if we say it often enough and sternly enough that is will miraculously become a fact. The lines of fact over fiction have become so blurred. Even when we are shattered and broken on the inside, we put on our stoic smiles, straighten our crowns and walk thorough our lives ‘gracefully,. Faking it until we make it is our daily mission. We know that we are one small wind away from shattering, yet we push through hoping that grace will find us.

Grace is within our grasp. In fact, she is often so close that we can reach out and touch her. The key to having grace come into your presence is allowing yourself to receive visitors. If we remain isolated and keep our ‘no vacancy’ sign illuminated, grace will pass us by. We must allow her to co-exist in our lives with all of the trauma, chaos and emotional triggers. She needs to become your closest confidant. She is forgiving and understanding and is the soft place to land when life gets hard.

Unlike searching for a needle in a haystack, when you are searching for grace, you must be prepared to receive her. You must be open to her company and view her presence as a gift and not a weakness. Grace is available to us all, she is not a rare precious stone or metal, she is ordinary and accessible to all that seek her. The secret is she only makes her presence known in spaces where she is welcomed.

We can call off the search parties and sit quietly and allow for grace to enter our souls. When we extend the invite for grace to come in our personal space we are then empowered to extend the gift of grace to others.

The seems to be a misnomer that human beings have an endless capacity to take in and absorb an infinite amount of information and experiences. As a student of science that has completed several anatomy courses in my educational journey, I can unequivocally tell you that there is not such anatomic structure that is a bottomless repository. The brain can compartmentalize to a point, but even it has its limits. The heart can deal with a lot, but it even has it limits. Your spirit and soul have the most tolerance and even they can max out.

Those that are labeled as strong and resilient are made out to be some sort of human mutants because they appear to have the aformentioned endless capacity and ability to take any and everything thrown in their direction. Even those self-proclaimed strong folk have convinced themselves that they will bend but never break. Their resilience allows for them to endure the unthinkable and unfathomable and they just keep pushing on even in the toughest of times. Today I will let you in on a secret, even when the strongest of the strong will eventually succumb to the impact of repetitive exposure to and impact of trauma. Whether it is trauma that they personally experience or trauma that they witness, over time this will affect their psyche and overload their retention centers. Like a callous, they develop a tough skin that suppresses the experiences as they don’t have the time to deal, but eventually the irritation will become difficult to ignore.

When we think of buildings and structures we know that certain materials are more resilient than others. These materials like steel and cement have the capacity to endure tremendous pressure and stress for long periods of time. They are chosen because of their durability and ability to stand the tests of time. However, the most experienced of engineers will tell you that repetitive stressors over an extended period of time will create stress points or fissures. Although they may not be visible with the naked eye, the area where they appear loses integrity. We all know the saying, “You are only as strong as your weakest link”, this is a tangible example of this. Small fissures and weakened points on buildings or a bridge can lead to catastrophic events such as collapse. When events such as structural failures occur, the strength of the materials become inconsequential as it failed to overcome the effects of its stressors.

I used to take pleasure in being referred to as strong and resilient. As a self-proclaimed introvert and extremely shy person, I have worn this ‘sticktoitness” as a badge of honor as I recalled many times when I was told to stop being weak or a doormat. I had learned to adapt and become stoic to always push through and deliver at all costs. There was no time for emotions, emotions were for the weak, there is no crying in business, all of these played like the loop of an old R&B song in my head for many years. The aftermath of this conditioning yielded a woman that appears to be able to manage it all, handle it all and never buckles under the pressure. I have an uncanning ability to just push through, it has to be done so get it done by any means necessary. Now in my fourth decade of life my cracks and fissures are beginning to bow under the weight of the overloaded capacity of my being. My inherited traumas, experienced traumas and traumas of the world have filled my vessel to an unsafe limit. I have begun to ask myself, “Where do I put it all?”. Years and decades of swallowing it down to stay strong has rendered me full and structurally unsound. We are often told, “you cannot pour from an empty cup”; however, I would argue that this mantra should also highlight an overly filled cup cannot receive. These survival mechanisms of pushing through and pressing down have become normalized and celebrated. The proverbial “they” do not warn of the dangers of resilience and strength without vulnerability and acknowledgement. If anything is repetitively poked eventually that area will give out. When pressure continues to build and there is no release valve, an outlet to release will be created when it is least expected.

So here is the current recipe, 4 cups of Covid pandemic, 5 gallons of inherited and experienced trauma, a tablespoon of life and a sprinkle of crazy makes a very unstable brew that is ready to bubble over. All of these ingredients combined in a haphazard way are not emotionally palatable. Each ingredient should be handled and managed individually so that they can be appropriately incorporated. We must be careful about what we pour into ourselves and those that we care for. Affirmations such as “stay strong”, “shake it off” and “push through” can have negative impacts although they come from a place of love. Yes, it is true that we must all be able to handle conflict and difficulties because life is not a straight road; however, we must pause to acknowledge and process that difficult time and uncomfortable feeling so that it can be appropriately metabolized so that it may pass through. I have caught myself telling my sons to suck it up on several occasions. I now recognize how damaging those words are, equivalent to a slap across the face. Today I affirm that I will support my children in their processing and acknowledgement of their emotions. They will have the tools to prevent their cups from running over and succumbing to the pressure of unchecked emotions. It is an obligation that we all self-assess and if we are feeling full, we should not and cannot just push through. It is imperative to unpack and declutter our emotional hoards. We are seeing an incredible uptick in suicide amongst those that appear to have it all and could do it all. We are all running out of room and there is nowhere else to put it. The saying “check on your strong friends”, is an understatement and we must give everyone that we know and love the opportunity to just be.

Culture is defined as the customs, arts, social institutions and achievements of a particular nation, people or other social group.  Culture is dynamic and morphs over time based upon the shared experiences of a collective of people.  If culture can change or develop based upon the passage of time and experiences of a people, is it possible that certain cultural elements evolve based upon trauma? I have thought about this recently based upon finishing the book, “My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies” by Resmaa Menakem.  This book describes has trauma and violence based in racist ideologies has a physical effect on the nervous system of a person.  If the trauma remains unhealed, it can alter the genetic makeup, making it possible to pass trauma from generation to generation. This concept so aligns with my being as I believe that data can always make something real.  Menakem uses scientific data to support his claims and debunks the myth that trauma only causes mental detriment. He also proposes that unhealed trauma can be normalized as described as culture. I am now hyperaware of how true this is.  Looking at my experience as a Black woman in this culture, examples of how true this is has become very apparent. My family from what I know lived in the Carolinas and Alabama. From the time my ancestors made the journey through the Middle Passage, the process of normalizing trauma began. When our people were stolen from their native lands, Africans were forced to hide parts of their culture in creative ways to retain memories of what they understood as their culture. Hiding seeds of common crops in their braided hair became the first example of the normalizing of a traumatic experience.  Once they arrived in America and became enslaved, they planted these seeds to help cope with the trauma of being enslaved. Being able to grow something that was familiar to them, helped them suppress the ever-changing dynamics of their culture in this country.  As slaves, Black men were controlled and made to submit through violence and mental torture.  Being separated from family, seeing their wives and daughters raped and beaten created another dynamic that created traumatic effects that have been passed along through subsequent generations. When we look at the narrative of Black men, being respected by any means necessary has become very important. Within the history of Black men in this country the use of violence against other Black men and in some cases Black women has become a cultural norm for some to assure that their masculinity remains intact.  This is another data point that proves that unhealed trauma can be normalized and in some cases a justification for unsavory behavior. When we were given the scraps from our master’s table, we normalized this inhumanity and turned it into a cultural norm. Today we call it “soul food” but the truth is the history of this type of cuisine is anything but soulful. Out of necessity we were forced to take another man’s garbage and turn it into sustenance for our families. Imagine the PTSD of seeing your family having to eat these types of food when you hold the knowledge that you could provide no better for your family. As this cultural aspect morphed over generations, we now see these foods as the centerpiece for family celebrations. It makes me wonder that when these foods are consumed are they feeding the unhealed trauma held in our bodies that was passed along to us from our ancestors?  We have gone as far as taken words and justifying their use in our communities as culturally appropriate. We all know the history of the word nigger and unhealed trauma has convinced some that removing the “er” and adding an “a” removes that traumatic history associated with the word. We sing negro spirituals and hymns in church, but do we stop to think about what these songs were born from? Most of these were created as a way to communicate with one another in code to hide our intentions from our masters.  When a plan was being hatched for an escape to freedom, these songs provided the roadmap to get there. Today they are sung from a place of rejoicing; however, their roots are seeped in trauma.  Is it possible to detach the trauma from these experiences if they are normalized with a positive spin?  I have been forced to look within to see how many cultural norms I have that are rooted from a place of trauma.  What I have realized that much like a weed, if the root is not killed, it may lie dormant for awhile but can return under the perfect conditions.  Unfortunately, there has been no shortage of the perfect conditions.  These are triggering events that wake the sleeping beasts within us. I have found myself being triggered as this country’s social unrest has highlighted how much normalized trauma I have created.  Black parents have created a cultural norm of having “the talk” with our children, this has been passed along as common knowledge from generation to generation. I have normalized racist behaviors by learning how to play the game. I have at times convinced myself that I could win the game of racism by assuring that I countered every racist stereotype there is about Black people.  I learned to shrink parts of myself to fit into a professional construct. This is another trauma that many have internalized and have convinced us that it is normal behavior. Unhealed trauma manifests itself in many forms, it may present as one being an overachiever or on the other end of the spectrum it may present as self-loathing. Those moments of anxiety without warning or a real reason are unhealed traumas manifesting. If our neurologic pathways can be altered due to trauma it makes perfect sense for mental illness to be a by product of these experiences, even if we were not the direct recipients of the trauma.  As a people we must begin to really think, evaluate, and critique that we deem as culture. We are all to willing to normalize negative behaviors and justify trauma, but we must realize in our attempt to suppress the trauma we are inflicting harm to not only ourselves but to our offspring as well. In the book “My Grandmother’s Hands…”, the author suggests that the only way to heal the body from the effects of racialized trauma is to go through the trauma and acknowledge it for what it is. Black people have relied upon the fight, flight or freeze responses for dealing with trauma; however, this only delays the impact of it.  When we talk about the “culture” we should be careful about that which we claim.

Yesterday I experienced yet another “ah-ha” moment. My decision to pursue a career in corporate America has been a road paved with trials, tribulations and tears. Despite the difficulties, I was bound and determined to prove to those in my industry and more importantly to myself, that I was competent, worthy and deserving of the opportunities I have been afforded in my career. Yesterday it finally set in that despite all of my years of hard work and dedication, struggle and willingness to crawl before I walked, I will never be enough to some. My twenty years of proving myself as smart enough, qualified enough and just enough in general will never be able to circumvent the beast of privilege. It has taken me close to twenty years to climb the corporate ladder to be where I am today in a management position. I am grateful for every entry level position as it allowed time to hone and perfect my craft and to become confident in my abilities to do my job to the best of my abilities. I found a profession and career and not just a job, so that it why it is painful for me to admit that my passion will forever be overshadowed by the cloud of privilege. I am grateful that I earned my position and that it was not handed to me because it has allowed for me to appreciate it and never take it for granted. I do not take my position as a leader lightly and I am dedicated to assuring that I am a developer of people and will push and motivate those that I encounter to be the best version of themselves possible. I have been able to relate to my team members because I do not treat them as employees. Also, everything that I ask of them, I have done myself. This allows me to be relatable with my team members and understand their moments of celebration or frustration. I choose to invest in every member in my team because my investment in them is an investment into the company and also an investment into myself. All of the years I have invested into growing my career, the lateral moves, the relocations, all for that one shot to prove that I could handle whatever was thrown my way, to show that I could lead, I had finally done it, or did I? Yesterday was the slap in the face back to the reality that I although I am “here” and put in the work, others will be allowed to get “here’ with less effort and experience because they are a benefactor of privilege. As a person with lesser boots on the ground experience or professional experience in the field in general has been granted an opportunity to be my counterpart and professional equal, should I plaster on a smile and go along to get along? Do I have to pretend to not notice? Do I now have to face the fact of the possibility that what I believed was a true acknowledgement of my time and talents was nothing more than a position as a diversity mascot? Is it possible that I have maxed out in my career and that when new opportunities become available, I will never be considered? When I hear people arguing about the existence of white privilege, it is highly likely that those are the loudest against its existence are the primary benefactors of it. I am firm believer that credentials alone should not be the barometer of a person’s abilities and worthiness to be afforded opportunities, but skin color alone should also not be a measurement of worthiness. In this country, minorities in leadership positions are uncommon and uncomfortable. This is evident by the fact that in 2021 we are having to acknowledge the first woman, or the first Black or the first Asian for key leadership positions. Are we to believe that there have been no qualified minorities capable of leadership until now? When looking at Fortune 500 companies, the numbers of minorities in C-level positions can be counted on one hand. Has discrimination and privilege brain washed this country into truly believing that minorities have just now leveled up and become equally yoked to our white counterparts? Discrimination and privilege have become normalized commodities that have blinded many in this country to the truth of their existence. Today I must face the reality that I may have reached my glass ceiling and I must choose how to pivot knowing this reality. My passion, drive and determination will never allow me to do anything less than my absolute best despite this reality; however, I will be keenly aware that the bar will continue to be a moving target for me. My only competition will be myself and I will continue to push myself beyond my comfort zone, even when the efforts and work go unnoticed or unacknowledged. Even when I excel or exceed expectations, I will not longer expect that these successes will get me onto the short list of those that will be afforded the next best opportunity. There will always be a reason or rationale as to why I am not ready or may not be the right fit for the next role that comes along. I will continue to strive and will pursue greatness and I will not allow the opinions of others to derail my trajectory. So yesterday reality smacked me in my face, turned the other cheek, smacked me again and mushed my in my forehead. Today I hear and see reality loud and in living color and I will not be suckered by fool’s gold again!

Twenty-twenty sent the world into a tailspin. Natural disasters, global pandemic and social unrest made us feel as if the bottom had dropped from under us. The uncertainty, chaos and revelations of the dark side of America caused corporations to brace themselves for impact. Physical safety of employees and financial stability of the business became immediate challenges that needed to be managed and addressed expeditiously. Equally as jarring and imminent was the acknowledgement of the injustice and inequities against people of color in this country, particularly against Black people. As the world watched an officer kneel on the neck of George Floyd until the life left his body, many Americans had their first ‘ah-ha’ moment that perhaps something sinister was amiss. Others shook their heads and dismissed the incident as another example of non-compliance against the police and that the situation was handled as it should be. As this incident and a host of others rolled out before our very eyes, corporations were forced to take a position. As the divisiveness in this country became more apparent, companies had two choices, to remain silent and wait for the storm to blow over or to be radical and take a stance against injustice. Many companies consulted their PR departments and issued well-rehearsed and canned statements. Some companies took the extra step and held town-hall meetings to discuss the current events and opportunities to afford their Black employees a ‘safe place’ to share their experiences as a Black person in this country. Buzz words such as ‘anti-racist’ and ‘allies’ were tossed about and popularized like the latest Birkin handbag or Louboutin shoes. For white people in America, they were also forced to make a choice. They could remain in their cone of silence and blissful unawareness, turn their heads because it is not their problem or fight or they could take a huge leap to really learn and act to make changes to systematic issues. Through all of this, Black people in corporate America became knowledge banks for the racial history of this country that their white colleagues made repetitive withdrawals. Because none of this was new to most Black people, we politely obliged and entertained the show of concern and empathy toward our plight.

Since I am only able to speak from my personal experience, I will take you inside the mind of a Black woman in corporate America during these challenging times. She shows up every day on time, most often before time, so as not to feed into the notion of CP (Colored People) time. She checks and rechecks her appearance before she leaves her home, because she is keenly aware that eyes will be her. The attire for her job is business casual and for most a polo shirt and khakis will be appropriate, but for her she make sure that she always steps it up and is suited and booted so that no one can challenge her professionalism. She was raised to know that the standard for the majority was not our standard. On the drive to the job she initiates the process of suppressing those personal parts of herself that could be scrutinized or viewed as weakness. She must compartmentalize the heaviness within her spirit, fully cognizant of the problems happening against people that look like her because this could be used against her and unfairly label her as emotional and unfocused. She swallows the fears of the world, knowing that what is happening to Black Americans may one day hit close to home. Before she left her house, she said good-bye to her husband and children and said a silent prayer that they would survive and be waiting for her safe and unscathed when she returned home. She makes sure that her sons are dressed neatly for school and well put together so she can minimize the opportunities to label them as unruly or ‘too urban’.

As she pulls into the parking lot, she sits in her car for a few minutes to gather her thoughts. She braces herself for the day head, knowing there is a strong possibility of at least one encounter where she will be marginalized, second guessed or her abilities doubted. As she opens her car door to begin the walk into the office, she flips the switch to activate the corporate Black woman persona. This is a persona that is ‘on’ at all times, the one that analyzes and critiques every word before it leaves her mouth and the one that keeps her emotions in check so as not to be labeled as ‘an angry Black woman’. She is poised and polished and makes sure to speak with perfect diction. Any interactions she has are carefully thought through so that she always make sure that the other party is comfortable. She is used to be an ‘n’ of a few or more often an ‘n’ of one in the conference room, but she must pretend that she does not notice and that others around her are noticing. When her abilities and skills are questioned and challenged, she must hide her aggravation against the passive aggressive behavior. When she encounters those on her ‘team’ whom she knows do not believe that she earned her place or is deserving to be there, she must kill them with kindness and go along to get along. She must wear the mask and ensure that she shows no signs of weakness or vulnerability. She must appear unphased and unbothered when she is spoken to in a condescending and disrespectful manner. As the world is crashing down for people that look like her, she must keep of the façade of being okay and must always be ready to perform and deliver at all times. She understands that having an ‘off-day’ opens the doors for others to cast doubts. A mistake may put her on a short list when a ‘right-sizing’ event is needed. She must check and recheck all that she does because a human moment may be the kiss of death for her.

As she appears to be the epitome of professionalism and poise, internally she gnashes her teeth in agony feeling helpless and hopeless because the country she has known as home for all of her life, thinks that the lives of people with her complexion are optional. As she sits in meeting after meeting she has to force herself to remain focused on the tasks at hand even though thoughts of sadness and despair creep into her thoughts on occasion. She realizes that she cannot blow this opportunity that she worked so hard to obtain, but she carries the spirits of those that will never have the opportunity to pursue their dreams or passions because their lives were taken too soon. She feels the pain in every fiber of her being of the mothers that are mourning the lost lives of their children. Every headline, news story and hashtag reopen the wounds and are constant reminders of how this country is irreparably broken. Even through all of this she tucks all of the broken pieces away so that she can be sure she brings her best to the job everyday. She endures the awkward conversations about the current events with co-workers but hides any inkling of emotion or vulnerability. As a Black woman in corporate America she must move through the day with purpose and precision.

At the end of her eight hour day, which seems like a lifetime, she is emotionally and physically exhausted as keeping it together and walking through the day like a robot saps every ounce of energy she had. It is not until she is in car that she can exhale and begin the process of allowing the suppressed parts of herself to return. She prays that the commute home will afford her time to be restored to her whole self so that when she reconnects with her family she has something left to give. She thanks God that she didn’t get a phone call that either her husband or sons were harmed and values everyday that she walks through the door to see their faces. As her family asks her how her day was, she smiles and gives the scripted response ‘it was fine’, even when it wasn’t. She knows her husband knows the truth, but she wants to spare the reality from her children for as long as possible. She basks in the time she has to be her whole self with her family before the reality of doing it again the next day sets in. As she turns in for the night she prays for renewed strength to live to fight another day.

Now that you have been provided insight into the day in the life of a Black woman in corporate America, for those that want to be true allies there is some soul searching you must do before that can become a reality. When you know better you should do better, so it is imperative to be careful with your words and actions. When you ask a person of color in you office ‘how are you doing?’, are you asking because you genuinely want to know or are you on autopilot? Have you ever let it cross your mind when you see a Black person in a position of power if they were in that position because of their minority status or are they there because they are qualified and experienced? If you have ever celebrated because the ‘first person of color’ was placed into a position, this should be a light bulb moment for you. In 2021 there should not be any celebration for the ‘first person of color’ because it implies that since Black people have been in this country that there has never been a Black person qualified or capable for that position. If you have ever commented about how well spoken a Black person was, please realize that is not a compliment. It implies that you have an internalized bias and perception of Black people that we are incapable of communicating in a coherent manner. Although I fully realize that Black people have more opportunities today than we had twenty or more years ago, we still have a long way to go. Being an ally means that you are willing to take inventory of your own biases, acknowledge them and work toward fixing them. In doing so you will then be able to educate others in the spirit of each one, teach one. Black people are not looking to be saved. We are not waiting for the white cavalry to save the day. If you operate in the spirit of saving us and know that you are able to fix some of the issues in the work place by simple statement or request, you are a benefactor of privilege that Black professionals are very rarely afforded. We are looking to be seen for the totality of who we are and desire for the wholeness of who we are to be seen as an asset and not a detriment. Being an ally for your colleagues is not as easy as you may think, you must carefully consider if you are willing to bear the weight of what it takes to truly influence change.

In recent days, there has been a spotlight shined upon the importance of the participation of black women during this election season. The Black female demographic was instrumental in shifting the outcome of the Presidential election. The heroic efforts of women leaders such as Stacey Abrams and Kecia Lance Bottoms helped assure that more Black people participated in this election than ever before. Finally, it seemed that Black women were getting their just due. This was a moment that Black women were appreciated and needed after centuries of being the most disrespected, ignored and taken for granted population of people in this country. As I reflect on this issue, I can’t help but wonder, why now? Haven’t we been needed and important to the plight of this country all along? What was it about this time in our country’s history that our efforts were acknowledged in a way that they have never been before? Since the first slave ship arrived into this country, the Black woman has been quietly getting it done without any recognition. The reality of slavery was that our men were physically and mentally unable to take care of the family as they were fighting to remain alive. Out of mere survival the cliché of the strong black woman was born. While our men were being beaten and broken, the Black women had to make sure the children were cared for, that she continued to pour into the Black men to attempt to undo the damage of institutionalized slavery and had to teach and prepare the next generation how to survive the complexity of the web of slavery. She was willing to do anything she could to afford her family the opportunity to live another day. Sometimes that even meant sacrificing her self-dignity and at times her own body for the greater good. We were forced to take the lead as head of household in action only without the acknowledgement. At the time of post-slavery and the Civil Rights Movement Black women were not the faces of the movement but contributed in many ways to fight for human rights and freedoms of our people. In the face of adversity, somehow Black women have always had the ability to rally up strength and courage to make sure everyone was okay and that the business at hand was always handled. While our people were being lynched and deprived of basic rights, Black women never buckled under the pressure and remained steadfast and unshaken. When we look at women like Mamie Till that made the conscious choice to have an open casket funeral for her son, the strength and resilience was unexplainable. Even in modern times, Black women are rarely described as meek and demure, but quite the opposite. Black women are often described as either angry or headstrong. Where does this strength come from? How do Black women keep going even when the world tries to break them at every turn? Black women will bend, but very rarely break, or do they?

Our strength has become a badge of honor; however this honor comes with a hefty cost. Because of our strength and tenacity, sitting in our emotions is rarely an option. The strength of Black women was born out of survival, but over time it has taken a toll on our personal well-being. Black women are often emotionally unavailable and often lack the ability to acknowledge our emotions. This generational phenomena has forced women to give the perception of being unphased or unbothered when life scenarios come their way. Mothers often teach their Black daughters to suck it up and that showing emotion is a sign of weakness. The trauma of our ancestors and the trauma of the injustices and violence against our people and children has engrained a permanent callous on our emotional well-being. The very thing that sustained not only our survival but the survival of others, is also a festering disease that continues to plague generations upon generations. Strong women are often conflicted. If we take the time to be present in our emotions, the opportunity to fail those depending upon us becomes too great. Being too strong may ostracize others and further broaden the divide in Black families. The dissolution of the Black family over time has forced the Black woman to be mothers and fathers to our children, because we are losing our men. The shift of strength from Black men to Black women has created resentment towards us which has made the very thing that sustained us an undesirable attribute to some Black men. It was never the intent of Black women to lead the way, but we were forced to. Now it is difficult to undo the damage that was done and rebalance the scales of responsibility. Now that the beast has been unleashed, putting it back into the box is near to impossible. The trauma caused by the events of this year has placed a spotlight on Black women. Not only that we can affect positive change, but that we have changed because of the traumas we have seen and experienced. Many Black women have existed by keeping it moving. Very few of us understand the difference between surviving and living. If we stay busy, there is no time to think and more importantly, to feel. However; 2020 has forced us to sit with our emotions and thoughts. This is unfamiliar and uncomfortable. We identify it to be selfish to focus on ourselves and our own emotions. We have managed to push through and press forward for so long that we are a powder keg waiting to explode. Many Black women are probably experiencing difficulty with this. My personal experience has been that my anxiety levels have been through the roof and the adrenaline that kept me sustained had time to dissipate un-numbing the pain and unchecked emotional baggage. What I have realized in the year of chaos is while I was being strong for everyone, no one was being strong for me, including myself. Being strong has resulted in the illusion that we don’t need to be taken care of. Being a strong Black woman has created a narrative that we are unlovable and not worthy of investing in. Once this becomes the reality we see, it is then that self-deprecating behaviors begin. These behaviors may be manifested as failed relationships, overeating, hypersexuality or over indulgence in alcohol or drugs. Although we try to convince ourselves that we are holding it together and have it under control, cracks in the armor slowly manifest over time. The more time spent denying that we are buckling under the pressures of the world, the more emotionally suppressed we become. Strong women tend to over-compensate to disguise any perceived weaknesses. We see this in Black women that are “independent” and don’t need help from anyone. Black women tend to be over achievers in some form or another which will eventually lead to self-harming behaviors. Our strength is our weakness. Our strength can make Black men feel weak, our children afraid and may be the cause of infinite loneliness.

The strong Black women has been our rallying cry for so long, but have we thought about the consequences of being the strong ones. The price we have paid may not have been worth the title. It is time to realize that having feelings and emotions are not weakness but make us stronger over time. Unacknowledged pain and hurt will lead to a live changing moment of weakness later. It is time to be kind to ourselves and to other Black women and to let them know that it is okay to lay down your crown when it gets to heavy. Doing so may just save your life.

Twenty-twenty was many things, crazy, scary and unbelievable to name of few, but one thing 2020 was not was ‘normal’. Pandemics, politics, social discord and environmental disasters this year were anything but ‘normal’. Often in life we are forced to adapt and adjust to things beyond our control. This year tested those limits almost to a breaking point. The importance of togetherness and engagement was a focal point as social restrictions and an ability to connect with others became a distant memory in this year. Family gatherings and social outings could prove deadly. That which we took for granted, became something we now long for. A family dinner, a girls night out or a date with your husband took on a whole new meaning this year. Virtual Thanksgivings and Happy Hours have become our new normal. What is more disheartening is that it is difficult to see the end of this paradigm. The power of people and relationships has been tried, tested and put through the ringer. However; despite all of the twists and turns that 2020 has had to offer, I met someone.

I know many are questioning how I met someone when meeting people in conventional ways is not an option this year. Did I put myself or someone in harms way just to have a social connection? Did I connect on some social network so that I could foster and create new relationships? I did none of that, you see I have seen this person around for many years. We always seemed to be in the same place at the same time. We know the same people. Our families are eerily similar and our paths in life have been parallel paths. Yet, although we have so many things in common, I never have really been introduced myself to them or really gotten to know them. As 2020 forced us into a mandated take time to smell the roses way of being, there are many things that have been around us that we probably have just noticed. Forced to stay home and slow down, our typical hustle and bustle has highlighted that many of us have failed to notice and truly see what has been there all along. This is very apparent with my new found relationship with the person I met this year. This was not on my list of things to do this year, fostering a new relationship was not on my priority list. My life has never been what one would call exciting, but I somehow managed to keep myself busy. Every time I would encounter this person, they too also seemed to be equally as busy. I would run into them at work, at the grocery store, in church, now that I think about it, they were everywhere I was most of the time. It wasn’t until this year that I realize that we were always around each other, but life prevented me from noticing. Why were they always around? Did I have a stalker? Was someone after me or my family? It seems so odd that I never noticed them, but I really notice them now.

Before I tell you who this person is, I should probably tell you how after all this time how we met. Days upon days of staying at home, working from home and schooling from home, changes your perspective on many things. Because there are very few outlets to avoid those things around you, you are forced to deal with whatever life hands you. Before 2020, it was very easy to escape reality, a quick outing to the mall or just connecting with some people could give you the escape you needed at that time. This pandemic has slowed life down to a snail’s pace and escape routes are few and far between. If you have issues and problems you are forced to face them head on. Although this is uncomfortable and sometimes painful, it is necessary to be able to clear space and move forward in your life. So this is how we met, I was forced to deal with some things that I had been avoiding for years. I had to take a good and long look at myself and acknowledge some things that I didn’t want to see. The efforts that I had been taking for many years to disguise hurts, feelings and pain, were futile in the midst of this season. This person was also on the similar journey of acknowledging reality at the same time as I. We were able to connect on an emotional level through the art of conversation through writing. In 2020, I found my voice through the power of the pen, or in this case the keyboard, and they too found this avenue of creativity. So there you have it, we met through writing. They read my work and I read theirs. Our writing styles were eerily similar and our subject matters were almost exactly the same. If you read them side by side, you would think you reading works by the same person. I had to meet them, get to know them, and understand their journey. It couldn’t be a coincidence that we had so much in common. Perhaps if I had the opportunity to know them and understand their journey, it could help me understand myself. So I decided to totally step outside of my character and initiated a conversation that led to our meeting. Most that know me, know that I am shy and socially awkward. I am an extreme introvert, so meeting someone new is very difficult for me. But, with nothing but time on my hands, stepping outside of my comfort zone seemed to fit the bill of this year.

This is how I initiated the meeting, I wrote them a letter. I poured my heart into it and told my story. I told them how I was confused and scared of what was happening around me and what was happening in this world in general. At the end of each keystroke, I hoped that they could see my heart and would afford me the opportunity to get to meet and know them on an intimate level. We had so much in common, I know I had found my kindred spirit, yet my fear of rejection was at an all time high. What if they thought I was weird or crazy? What if my offer to forage a new relationship would be rejected? I had to try, I knew it was not by chance that our paths had crossed so many times. The universe had been attempting to get us together for years, but we had somehow impeded all of the opportunities to do so. After pouring my heart out, I pressed ‘SEND’ and waited. The waiting was hard. It allowed time for my mind to create false narratives about what the future would be. Was I being unrealistic to think that someone would want to get to know me. After all, I am not what you would call exciting or special, so what would I really have to offer to someone new?

After days passed into weeks, it finally happened, I got to meet her. Yes, it is a her. She was nothing like what I expected. She seemed strong on the outside, but there was a sadness in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was soft and unsure. She always seemed to have it all together when I had seen her in the past, yet this person I was meeting was struggling to hold it together. She smiled often, but seemed as if she was on the verge of tears. I tried to keep the conversations light and superficial, but I knew that doing so was not going to help her. With everything negative happening in 2020, I knew this was my opportunity to shine light in a dark place and offer myself to help her with whatever she was struggling with. After the superficial formalities were done, I knew I had to approach her with kid gloves as she seemed so fragile and delicate. Whatever was bogging down her spirit was heavy and almost palatable. I couldn’t seem to find the right words to speak to her, so I resorted to what had connected us in the first place, I wrote her a letter. I told her my story about how I grew up a shy little girl with little to no confidence. I always wanted to blend into the background because being the center of attention was extremely uncomfortable. I told her that I felt lonely most of the time, but it was because I kept people at arms length to protect myself from being hurt. I let her know that I would often walk away from relationships because I didn’t feel worthy. I often compared myself to others and when I realized I didn’t measure up, I would cut off the relationship. This pattern of self-sabotage cost me friendships along the way. I let her know that even in my forty-six years, I still had no idea of what makes me happy. I have lived my life for others for so long, that I don’t know what I should be pressing toward. I let her know that I have existed for so long, that I don’t have a full understanding of what it means to live. I told her about my tricks for making others believe that I was this confident, self-assured woman, when the truth was, I was a shrinking violet that cringed at the thought of being noticed or looked at. I told her that although it has gotten better, I still struggle to love myself and show myself kindness. I tend to be my own worst critic and struggle to see the good but focus on the imperfections. I told her that when I look into the mirror, somedays it is like the mirror is broken, because the image is so distorted. This distorted image has caused me to want to hide from the world because I am disgusted and embarrassed by what I have become. After endless prose, it was finished, I was ready to give to her my truth. I waited for her to read it, to process it and respond. I watched as her eyes flitted across the words. I saw tears welling in her eyes. Did I overstep my boundaries? Perhaps it was too forward and too honest. I thought I had done the right thing, now I was not sure. Would she still want to get to know me? Had I scared her away before we even had a chance?

She finally finished, looked up at me and said, “How did you know? This is my story, but you said this was about you.” I wanted to comfort her and reassure her that it was okay that this was her truth as well. We could share it and together we could possibly heal from it. The key to this was doing it as one. We had to unite and interlock our souls to complete the rest of our journeys. I could not do it without her and she could not do it without me. We were destined to meet even if it took over forty years. The time was now and we had to take a leap of faith so that we could be the best at everything that we do in life. I asked her to join me and to make a change so that both of us could find that light in our eyes. It was dimmed, but was not extinguished if we were willing to work on it.

So we decided to do this together. We both want to be priorities in our own lives. We realized that were unable to be the best versions of ourselves because we had yet to find that which is good within us. So she will be my friend, she will be my cheerleader, she will be my protector from negative thoughts and people and I will do the same. She will be me and I will be her. We are one from this day and forever more. She is me, I met myself for the first time and it took a year like this to do so.

I knew that by giving my testimony, it would possibly help her/me to own her/my truth and together we could begin to heal it. I knew that our stories were probably the stories of many women, but because we are exist in a society where optics are everything, very few women are willing to acknowledge the truth of who they are and where they are in their journey. This year was the year to peel back the layers and heal yourself from the inside out. I have learned that if I/we carry this baggage into another second, minute, hour, let alone year, it will destroy me/us. Have you met yourself? Have you found that which makes you live and not just go through the motions of life? If you woke up today, you have an opportunity to do so. You have one more chance to be the you that which God intended for you. It is time to be honest with ourselves about our truth, including the ugly parts. If you take the opportunity to acknowledge those things that are not pretty and good, the path to healing and wholeness can begin. If we continue to push those things down and aside, eventually they catch up to us during those times we are forced to sit still. 2020 has been one exhausting, dramatic and emotionally draining year, but I got to meet someone. I met Robyn in all of her glory, together we will leave some things behind in this year and carry new energy and focus into the days to come. Go out and meet yourself, it is a life changer.

The number three is a divine number in the Bible. Three represents the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. We also know that it was on the third day that Jesus rose from the grave for the salvation of us all. In the secular world, the number three also has significance. We often say that events happen in threes, whether they be positive or negative. Three also represents the stages of life: birth, maturation and death. I am not a superstitious person, but I do believe in the spiritual significance of the number three. However; the divinity of this number has been sullied this year by the antics of mortals. In the third month of this year (2020), schools and business were forced to closed their doors due to the Covid 19 pandemic. As I write this, three days from today on the 3rd day of November 2020 the election that will change the trajectory of this country will occur. Before I continue let me clear, this is not a political statement of any kind. In fact I have not been more anti-politics in my life than as I am now. Political parties and government shenanigans have been the focal point and excuse for many to disparage others and cast blame for negative acts, but the root cause of the dissention and chaos can be boiled down to three things, morality, humanity and character, and the lack thereof. Your choice of political party or affiliation should not influence who you are as a person. One should not have to hide behind a political party to be true to who they are and the content of their character. Those that do are stuck in their cowardice and have not fully embraced their own inhumanity and amorality. Your core being is not Republican or Democrat, but good or evil. As we are three days from this election that has been steeped in hatred, bigotry, divisiveness and allegory, every citizen of this country will have to decide how or if they will participate in the election process. I am not sure if there has been an election of this type that will literally be a matter of life or death in recent history. The choices we have are imperfect to put it mildly, but represent opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of humanity and morality. There is no way to silo and dissect attributes of each of the Presidential candidates, this is an all or nothing situation. We will have to choose the totality of who these men are and what they represent. These choices will cascade in our choices for Senators, District Attorneys, Attorney Generals, judges and school board members. If nothing else 2020 has afforded everyone the right to show the world their true essence. Each individual must pay attention to what is being shown and communicated. There is no happy medium to be found at this time. Our decisions in this election will represent where we are on the spectrum of humanity and morality. This election is not about economics and foreign policy, but about the inalienable rights to live as a human in this country. As of today, pandemic aid has been cut off, thousands of people are contracting Covid 19 daily, protests are raging in the streets and the educational system is playing Russian Roulette with children and teachers’ health and well-being. Trust in those that are supposed to have the interest of public health and safety has been shattered. We are truly at a point where the plight of humanity is at stake. I wish it were not so dark and dire, but that is where we are. In three days there may be a civil war in this country. In three days the right to bear arms may result in the slaughter and execution of Americans exercising their civic duties. This year we have seen evil thinly veiled and projected under the auspice of religion. It should be apparent that religion is not equivalent to relational proximity to God. If one can use religion to justify hatred of people solely based upon physical attributes, it is obvious that there is no God in them. We have seen mortal men, worshipped and revered as demi-gods, leading people to commit heinous acts. We have seen leaders grant citizens of this country permission to be bold and brazen about their hatred and disgust of other races, while other leaders have silently stood by the sidelines. We have seen peaceful protests turn into scenes one would expect to see in third world nations. Natural disasters continue to occur relentlessly and mental illness has increased exponentially. Crimes against humanity have been normalized under the guise of “law and order”. In three days our humanity, character and morality will be fully transparent and worn like a scarlet letter for all to see. There will be no secret where we stand on the spectrum of right versus wrong. Relationships we had in the past will need to be severed. Our interactions will need to be heavily scrutinized so that we protect our soul ties to those that are like minded. We will be forced to go along to get along as we recognize that we may have to work and collaborate with those whose hearts are fundamentally different than ours. On November 3rd, the trifecta of right, wrong or indifferent will become two, just right or wrong. Your choice will be a reflection of your soul. As a Christian, the divinity of three will always remain rooted in my being, this will help me navigate and survive the power of three here on Earth. In three days we will all be seen for who we truly are, what is your choice?

There is an old adage that resonates with my spirit this morning, “Never bring a knife to a gun fight.” We have probably heard this saying on at least several occasions in our adult life. We know that the intention of this saying is for us to figuratively assess that we are prepared for difficult situations or to make sure you have the right tools for the situation you are embarking upon. A metaphor is meant to make us think and to have an association to use as a point of reference, this was never meant to be a literal statement. However; here we are today where a metaphor has been realized in the most literal sense. I continue to tell myself that if another video is circulated of a civilian and police interaction, I will not watch. I say this because each one causes more mental damage, each one takes a piece of my heart with it. Every video shakes me to my core and hope and faith are depleted from me. This time, like the times before, I had to watch. I had to see for myself because certainly this time would be different or would this had to be a time where the officers had no other options. I get news alerts on my phone and the alert for the shooting of Walter Wallace, Jr. popped up on my phone. I had to see it for myself so I could process and understand if this time would be different. Certainly with the last time and the time before, officers would exhaust every other option before they would resort to shooting a man dead. The hope and optimism in me had to believe that things were moving in a positive direction. It is no secret that the mental health of people in this country is being taxed and tested tremendously. Uncertainty, fear and a unclear path forward promotes anxiety and sadness in the strongest of people. For many this is the first time that they are experiencing mental health stress, but imagine the internal turmoil and struggle of those that have been battling mental health demons on a regular basis. The stress of the pandemic, civil and racial unrest may be the straws that will break the camel’s back. We have fortunately entered into a time where mental health issues are acknowledged publicly without fear of being demonized. However; although there is an awareness that mental health problems are more widespread than what was originally thought, the healthcare and government infrastructure has not adjusted and adapted to the realization of rampant mental health issues in this country. So, what are the options when you have a family member experiencing mental decline? If they are not a physical danger to themselves or others you may take them to the emergency room or call the paramedics, in hopes that they will be able to triage and treat them in the short term until they are able to see a doctor. You never would make this choice if you believed there would be a possibility that a paramedic would dose your loved one with ketamine to the point of an overdose, yet it has happened. Your second option would be to call the police if there is the possibility of physical harm. Both of these options are high risk and variable these days. You take a gamble that you will get one of the good public servants when you make that call. You pray that things will be routine. You never want to believe that you will be in a scenario where you may be bringing a knife to a gun fight and that your loved one may be subjected to excessive, or in the case of Walter Wallace, Jr, deadly force. The major responsibilities of parenting is keeping our children safe and to make sure that they are cared for. Parenting also requires that you check your ego and are comfortable with knowing you have certain limitations and may need to find help outside of yourself in order to obtain the best care for your child or children. Surrendering to the vulnerability of seeking help for your child because you are not equipped to do so is the most selfless thing a parent can do. I am sure that was the thought process of the mother of Walter Wallace. She saw her child in distress and realized that the help he needed was beyond what she could offer. She made the painstaking decision to call the police, hoping that she would be able to direct and advise so that the police officers could safely and successfully subdue her child until he could get medical attention. I am sure never in her wildest thoughts did she believe that she would literally be sending her son to gun fight with a knife. From the video it was clear immediately that she realized that her hopes were not in alignment with what was happening. Her attention then had to be refocused to attempt to calm the officers as she sensed their fear. At times she was physically shielding her son, willing to take a bullet for him if needed. Mothers instinctively become mama bear when they sense danger is looming for their children. I appreciate and understand that the racial and civil discord in this country has had a direct impact on an upward trend of anxiety and other mental health issues in members of law enforcement. Every call for law enforcement is a journey into the unknown. There is no longer a such thing as a routine call or a routine traffic stop. What used to be routine can turn deadly as in the case of Philandro Castile. Knowing that these are turbulent times and racial tensions are running high, when an officer is called about a mental health situation, the current culture and training of law enforcement may create a situation of bringing a knife to a gun fight. It becomes a powder keg when unchecked mental health issues of a law enforcement officer meets a civilian in a mental health spiral. The ability to think clearly and rationally goes out the window when an officer is overrun by fear and anxiety. The fear of the officers in the Walter Wallace situation was visible and almost palatable. The modern day police departments have de-prioritized de-escalation training and implementation. Most departments have created mini-military organizations where shoot first and ask questions last has become the order of the day. Excessive force and an uncompassionate heart are not the proper tools to bring to these types of calls, yet the obvious goes unaddressed and unacknowledged. To those that will look at this and scoff that he should have complied, I pray that you or a loved one of yours never experience a mental health emergency. Simplistically, when you are in the throws of a mental episode, your ability to see or hear clearly or think rationally is impaired or totally absent. A change in your medication dose or a stressful event can cause a spiral to escalate very quickly. A degree of empathy is necessary, the same as for someone that was afflicted with cancer. Judgement or opinions will not fix this, only reform and accountability will. My heart breaks for this mother as I know that her heart led her to seek help for her son. She had the purest of intentions and yet it unraveled right in front of her. All of the years of protecting her son from the Boogieman became inconsequential in a matter of minutes as she invited the Boogieman to her front door. She will have to live with that guilt for the rest of her living days. Although others will try to assure her that this was not her fault, there will be no words available in the English language to help her reconcile her guilt with the reality of what happened to her son. I have lost count of the number of these incidents that have occurred in the past year or even just 2020 for that matter. Root cause analysis points to the same conclusion, yet the phrase “defund the police” draws more emotion and rage than the reason for why the phrase was created in the first place. I will admit that the phrase is a bit misleading, it is obvious that law enforcement is necessary; however improvement is very much needed. The current construct creates an “us versus them” scenario. It also seems unreasonable to think that there should be a requirement for police officers to become mental health subject matter experts. However; just like the mother of Walter Wallace, police officers must know when they are beyond their capabilities and seek the help of those that are experienced in these types of matters. From the time that a 911 call is received, there should be mechanisms in place to assure that appropriate resources are deployed to handle the situation. This will assure that the appropriate tools are being brought to the fight. The battle should not be between the civilian and the civil servant, but against the disease afflicting the civilian.

To the mother of Walter Wallace, Jr, I grieve with you and I will stand in the gap for you as I know that you are not able to stand at this moment. As a mother, I know your actions were rooted in the love for you child and you did everything in your power to keep your child safe. You were willing to lay down your life for his. I pray for your healing and peace as I know this will be a long hard journey for you. I pray that in time you will be able to forgive yourself and will know that you did nothing wrong. You did not fail as a parent, you did what a mother should do, you loved your child unconditionally until he drew his last breath.

We are in strange days and times. That which was meant to be a metaphor has now become visceral and literal. The concepts of normal and routine no longer exist. So instead of getting up in arms about the phrase “defund the police”, open your minds and hearts to understand and hear the intent of why this premise exists. We must acknowledge that the infrastructure of law enforcement is fractured and the concept of “protect and serve” cannot co-exist under this current framework. If police departments are not willing to create or strengthen connections with the communities they govern, the literal manifestation of bringing a knife to a gun fight will continue to happen. You can understand what you don’t know. If you don’t know the people that live in the communities in which you work, you will apply a broad brush and make assumptions that are rooted in opinions and judgements. If your presence is only seen or felt when you are responding to chaos you will not be seen as a civil servant but the enemy. There are still a few that understand the importance of establishing relationships within the community they serve, but they are few and far between. Civilians are not the enemy of the state. Law enforcement must return to humanity and community. The objective and goal should never to win a gun fight, the gun fight should always be the last resort.