Within my spirit, there’s a constant tension between grief and joy. I breathe deeply, drifting to a place where my existence is free from ideologies that threaten my authenticity. When I exhale, I release the pain from walking in a truth that is not widely embraced. I think about the spaces where people can just be without the confines of oppressive structures; to thrive and engage in a community where profound care is evidenced for humanity. However, my freedom dreams are often distorted by the harsh realities of a world that upholds pegs of injustice in every system.
I am weary. I am tired.
Yet, I hinge myself to a movement with purpose. I move in solidarity with others. I find the strength my ancestors demonstrated in their resistance. I build stamina with love, recognizing that in an inequitable society there is much to fight for and fight against.
While serving in a DEI role, I have experienced many oppositional forces that have attempted to silence my voice and hinder my commitment to human work. I have faced nefarious attacks that were intended to wound my character and cause harm. Through it all, I’m still here and still standing, learning more about the sustainability of this journey with every battle scar.
In this fight for liberation, there are times that require us to push, pause, and protect our peace. This is how I process my footing in this work. And importantly, this is how I survive.
When to Push
There are moments when we cannot remain silent. We can no longer exist and be complicit in the dehumanization, and abuse of power over others. Sometimes we have to leave our fears behind, embracing courage and vulnerability. These are the moments to push, the times to stand up with a clear conviction of our beliefs.
When I think about my life throughout the years, I have pushed for as long as I can remember:
I found my voice in 6th grade, calling out a teacher who openly stated a racial microaggression.
I decided to play a hip-hop compilation on my violin at a high school convocation, against my orchestra teacher’s directive to play classical music. Since she said there was no place for rap and R&B in her program, I decided to play Biggie instead of Bach.
I walked out of a classroom in college and marched straight to the university president, when a professor told me that I should be grateful for slavery and the ways white slave owners civilized people of color.
I have fought for my own life to receive care as a lupus patient while navigating an inherently racist medical system.
Sometimes you have to push to be seen as fully human. You may have to push for others’ intentions to shift into impact. There may be times you have to push on thoughts and raise critical questions. We may need to push out malpractices and challenge performative actions.
Pushing requires our voice, hard labor, and the work of assembling people who have the will to fight.
As a Black woman, I am also cognizant of the trauma I carry into this fight. The emotional labor is taxing and mentally depleting. This work demands sacrifices, forcing many to push beyond physical limits. A pause is needed for restorative rest and clarity of mind.
For BIPOC, we need spaces for healing. There is strength and refuge in community. We can be the love we need and the joy this world tries to take away. Collectively, we can hold on to hope and allow our laughter to be the light in dark times. In this fight for liberation, we cannot neglect what it means to be human. A pause allows us to release the emotions we’ve held for too long; to regroup and recharge.
When to Protect Your Peace
You can identify what threatens your body, mind, and spirit, when you affiliate yourself to self-love. I refuse to subject myself to spaces where my humanity will be debated. No longer will I work for people who care more about whiteness than my physical and emotional well-being. I do not have to listen to dehumanizing language or the tongues of deficit-mindsets.
Protecting my peace gives me a sense of control in a world wrought with suffering and hurt people. I protect my eyes from traumatic viral videos, my ears from nonsense, and my time to love on my people. It’s a matter of loving yourself and knowing when you need to reduce the intake of distress or walk away.
For BIPOC, guarding your peace may mean that you have to leave work environments that fight to maintain the status quo at the cost of your belonging. You do not have to be a walking billboard for an institution that has no interest in protecting you. Rather, we can invest time in the cultivation of our own support systems, and work with people who are empowered to fight alongside us.
My life’s work has reflected moments of pushing, pausing, and protecting my peace. I have pushed myself into suffocating situations, forcing myself to pause, breathe, and find inner peace. I am also a mother who wants to live to see my child’s sass and confidence transform the world. My loved ones need me to live through this fight. And, I cannot be the parent my child needs, or advocate for others in my sphere of influence if I don’t nurture and take care of myself. One of the best gifts we can give ourselves in this journey is radical self-love.
Keep pushing, lean into your community for support, and protect your peace when needed. You don’t have to shoulder this work alone.
Our liberation is tied together.
This blog post is part of the #31DaysIBPOC Blog Series, a month-long movement to feature the voices of indigenous and teachers of color as writers and scholars. Please CLICK HERE to read yesterday’s blog post by Sara Rezvi (and be sure to check out the link at the end of each post to catch up on the rest of the blog series).
