I’ve found it increasingly hard to post on social media lately. That could be for a number of reasons but as I write with this burdened heart, I can’t deny that this post is at least part of the reason.
I’m tired of participating in cookie cutter, VSCO edited posts, cleverly hash-tagged posts with our current state of affairs. Don’t get me wrong, I often use Instagram as a paradise lost, a place to escape the 100-pound lead weight anchored to my heart. But the tension is like a three-stranded chord pulling at my soul and there is nothing I can do silence the ache.
I’m tired of explaining, no, trying to persuade people with eloquent speech or carefully calculated words, hoping that somehow, someone would begin to understand what it’s like to be black in America; hoping desperately that the repetition of my lips would be mimicked, repeated, and instilled in the one who listens.
I’m tired of looking back through my memories trying to find out how I learned about racism. Because then I realize that the little 4th grade girl was not oppressed or discriminated against. She was curious about history and her curiosity for knowledge lead her to notice a pattern in societies across the world. Every lesson in her social studies class, from the Mayans to the Sudanese, taught her that no one liked “the dark people.” That harsh realization left her little heart indescribably shattered with no knowledge on how to fix it.
I’m tired of being silenced or asked not to share my feelings by people, coworkers, friends, leaders, whomever. I often ask myself “Why am I just now seeing posts against racism now after years of mourning and loss in the black community?” I’m tired of people negating my opinions because I’m “basically white” or I’m not “black enough.” I’m especially tired of remembering my sister contemplate purchasing pepper spray “just in case.”
I’m weary. I’m tired.
And usually, I try to end my posts with some sort of resolution but there is none. I, along with thousands of others, have been trying to hold up my arms, hoping that we will see the Lord turn this battle.
And I’m praying for an Aaron; a friend who will uphold my weary arms.