I wasn’t going to post anything today because, candidly, I’m sad. If you’re reading this, you’re probably feeling the same.
There’s been too much happening at once. The politicization of black bodies. Black pain and death on display. The unexpected passing of our first Black superhero, Chadwick Boseman. The utter dismissal of Black lives and culture daily. It’s a lot.
We all reach a breaking point at some point. The feelings of anger, frustration and sadness overwhelm us. We’re tired and it feels like we can’t catch a break. I can’t say I haven’t felt this way before. In the weeks following the death of George Floyd, I felt the same way.
I, like many of you reading, have been taught that one of the defining factors of being Black is our resilience. Our ability to push past obstacles has become a character trait we can’t seem to shake. We are bold, strong and fearless and these qualities give us the ability to push past any heartache, pain and disadvantage. For a long time, I believed that. I believed that my ability to overcome my obstacles or prosper in the face of opposition was my superpower. But the events of 2020 have proven to be my kryptonite. I remember crying my eyes out the morning after George Floyd’s funeral. I held onto those tears for nearly two weeks. I busied myself with protests, petitions, and op-eds. I had conversations, I created campaigns, and I donated. I used myself as a vessel in the best ways I saw fit in the fight for our Black lives. But that morning, I reached my breaking point.
On my way to work that morning, I remember bawling my eyes out. I cried out to God. I begged them to give us a break. To give us justice. A sense of solace, something, anything. I cried, I prayed, I screamed. I ended up having to pull over to gain my composure. But by the time I got to work, I was composed. I allowed myself 30 minutes to feel emotions that were brewing in me for years. This is how I have always processed my emotions when it comes to being a Black person in America. It feels like there is no time for us to feel any emotion other than anger or frustration. We can’t express pain or distress without fear of becoming a target. And if we do express these emotions, we have to make sure to do so in private. Which is why I ended up crying in my car and gaining my composure in front of my co-workers.
But now, three months later, I feel the same way I did that morning. I just want a break. And I know I’m not the only one.
2020 has put Black resilience to the test. In the last eight months, it feels like we have lost so much. The untimely passing of Black Panther star, Chadwick Boseman, seemed to be the breaking point for many of us. For me, 2020 proven that Black resilience is only adding to unnecessary we already experience. While it has helped us to overcome many obstacles, it has also tricked us into believing we are punching bags. Witnessing this amount of trauma in such a short amount of time is unhealthy and not releasing any of the emotions associated with that trauma does more harm in the long run At some point, we all reach our limit. How you decide to react to it depends on you. You may decide to step away from social media for a time. You may decide to speak with a therapist. You may decide to pray. But I am urging all Black people to take a break. Call your loved ones and let them know how much you love them. Talk to your friends. Cry if you want to. Scream if that feels better. Punch something (as long as it doesn’t cause harm to anyone or anything). Take a nap. Talk to a therapist.
I say all of this to say: Before you are Black, you are a human. Allow yourself to feel.
I love you all. My inbox is always open if you want to speak.
Take care of yourself,
Nikita Grant
