These tragedies affect us all in different ways. I haven’t been inspired, but I commend you on being inspired. I have been moved to have uncomfortable but necessary conversations with my husband and children about how to interact with police. I’ve struggled with wanting to keep my teenage son home and not allowing him to go out at night. I worry…a lot. I worry about them coming home to me, alive and unharmed.
What I’ve struggled with the most is hate. I was taught never to hate anyone and I have done a great job of that, in my opinion. However, each time I see another Black woman, man, or child, whose was unarmed, or scared, or going through a mental health crisis, or in the wrong place at the wrong time, or running away, be murdered in cold blood, and with no remorse, hate tries to find a place in my heart and my spirit. It is trying to find a deep, dark spot to take root, grow, and fester. I’m trying so, so hard not to allow that. I pray. I turn off the tv even though that makes me feel guilty. I love on my family and pray some more, but it’s getting harder and harder.