me too.
do you think there is a word for feeling every ounce of filth, guilt, hope, wonder, shame, fear, excitement and beauty our lives have gifted us?
if you find it, let me know. i’d like to use that word to describe not only life itself, but the past several weeks of living through this revolution in a mixed-race body. in this body, my body, one that happens to be mixed with Black and white, you are taught a lot of the same filth about yourself that monoracial Black bodies are, AND at the same time taught that it doesn’t belong to you, while still navigating traces of what feels like white guilt. depending on the shade, we may have privilege on the outside while still ingesting the poison taught to us about our blackness on the inside. we don’t always get to claim this pain – which adds another level to the complexity it is to be something grey in a world that demands black and white.
i also, so deeply, love what we are. we are living proof of years of violent division turned into sparkling love. sparkling life.
i wonder about our Black ancestors, the ones that were enslaved yet still fought for us until their dying breaths. are they furious that something like us exists? that we were once the product of something so dirty, something so innocent stolen from our ancient mothers and their bodies? or do they want to hold us, plea-ing for us to use our voices, rejoicing every time we learn all over again, how to love our Blackness? are they proud of the unique perspective we are able to provide the world, weeping that we are the product of love?
i wonder about our white ancestors, the ones that were the enslavers and white supremacists. are they furious that something like us exists? or have they watched us in our darkest moments, feeling the hate of Black lives that they have left for us to breathe begin to crowd their lungs too, and feel ashamed at what they have done to their own blood? do they too plea for us to use our perspective? to stop what they have done? do they weep that we are the product of love, that they tried so desperately, so violently to prohibit?
let me be clear – i don’t want to romanticize any of the immeasurable pain inflicted upon our Black ancestors by the white ones. our history is drenched with a sour pain that is well and alive today. still, only to ease my breath, i have to paint a masterpiece of what they could be in my mind. i imagine them having transformed into ethereal beings, their united tears glistening down their cheeks while they watch us today. something about it gives me solace when i need it the most. i imagine them gazing down at us, leaning over clouds and into the sky, or wherever gives them the clearest view of our lives, learning things they never would have dreamed of because now, they get to watch the future generations discover things they never did. i want our white ancestors to see the dirt of the world they stole, be outraged at how vile they made it, and be proud that we are trying to clean it up.
sometimes it feels like ancestors from both sides tug so violently at my heart that i swear i can feel their fingertips grasping onto me so i won’t forget they’re there. i like to imagine their hands finding one another and realizing finally that together, they have made something good. i know our history is not only a story of sorrow, but when the outcry of our people echoes yet another name added to the endless list of those we have had violently stolen from us, the sorrow in the air becomes thicker with each breath. as naïve as it may be, and knowing it probably isn’t true, this image of our ancestors keeps me afloat at night so i do not drown into the depths of my own mind.
my beloved mixed family, even in the moments when we feel pulled in opposite directions, lost in the mix, we have an important role in all of this. we can’t ignore that we have privilege, but instead of feeling ashamed of having it, we can use it. i grew up around a lot of white folk, and for some of them, i am one of the only Black people they know. something about that makes them comfortable. comfortable enough to not shy away from their own discomfort when i want to voice the reality for Black America. especially if you are light skinned, it’s important for us to push against any agenda that says dark skin folk aren’t just as important, and we need to recognize how to shut down colorism as quickly as we see it. we need to amplify our darkskin family, ESPECIALLY in predominantly white spaces. we need to listen. dark skinned people (especially women) should not be the only people advocating for themselves. i wish that a lighter shade of brown wasn’t one that made certain people feel more comfortable than dark brown, but it is an ugly truth, and we have to use it until we don’t have to anymore. similar to how white people are educating themselves on racism and using their privilege to amplify, we need to do the same thing within the world of colorism and see how it is all interconnected with white supremacy.
our role must extend to healing our own pain, too.
when i look back at the times in my life that my own internalized hate was spat onto blackness in general, i feel ashamed. today, i vow to scrape this guilt out of my chest and mold it into ground shaking liberation. it breaks my heart that so many of us are taught to harbor our guilt away, but what can we, as mixed individuals do with this shame?
no matter what your mix, we can use that shame to emancipate the parts of ourselves we were taught to hate. we can liberate others. we can love ourselves. i had never thought of my ribs as a cage until i realized how many pieces of myself i kept locked away, resting on my lungs so they too could at least breathe, but never be seen. i don’t want to hide anymore. i don’t want you to hide anymore.
how radical to take the pieces our world has forced us to break apart, hide away, and turn them into something powerful?
i’ll pick up your pieces if you pick up mine.
love,
[Me] who would like to liberate [You]
<3 maya richardson