Will you get uncomfortable?
You don’t need to be highly sensitive to feel the intensity of these past few weeks.
For the second time in less than three months, the way we connect, communicate, think and feel day-to-day is undergoing a massive shift.
So much so that, as I stare at my computer, I’m re-thinking every word I write. Do I have the experience to say this? Who am I saying this for? What do I hope the impact will be?
I hope we’ll all develop the insight, experience and grace to carry these learnings with us to the next generation.
Through the Black Lives Matter movement, I have learned that as a white American there is so much I do not know about racism in our country.
I’m committed to deeply re-educating myself, and I understand it’s a long and ongoing path.
I’m profoundly indebted to those willing to put in the effort to teach me — about systemic racism, white supremacy, and how to be anti-racist in America. Some of my favorites include Austin Channing Brown (I’m Still Here), Ibram Kendi (How to be an Antiracist), Robin DiAngelo (White Fragility), Clint Smith (Counting Descent), and so many others.
My hope is that with time, we’ll all develop their insight, experience and grace, so we can carry these learnings with us to the next generation.
However in order to learn about systemic racism, we (white people, in particular) need to allow ourselves to get uncomfortable. Like, really uncomfortable.
Understanding the discomfort
As an empath, a yoga instructor, a leadership coach and a facilitator — heck, as a human being — I’ve become intimately familiar with how I attempt to avoid discomfort, especially of the emotional vulnerability variety.
My instinctive response is not to dig in deeper, as this social movement demands. Instead, it’s to run away.
In fact, research from Harvard Medical School describes this “fight-or-flight” response as a natural reaction: “enabling people and other mammals to react quickly to life-threatening situations, the carefully orchestrated yet near-instantaneous sequence of hormonal changes and physiological responses helps someone to fight the threat off or flee to safety.”
Let me be clear: as a white person educating myself about systemic racism, I am not in a life threatening situation.
And yet, the fight-or-flight stress response I’ve seen in myself and many others points to what this social movement is challenging— my identity. My identity as a kind, thoughtful, loving, impact-oriented, non-racist human being.
We weren’t raised in a society that knows how to talk about racism.
It took days of internal processing before I was ready to pick up a book. My lack of education and engagement with this topic challenged my self perception as someone committed to doing good in the world. I asked myself:
“But what about my fight for impoverished people, for food security, for climate change? What about my work in the #MeToo movement? What about living my life in service of others?”
“What about being a good person?”
Enter Robin DiAngelo.
As I was reading her book White Fragility, I saw my identity threat spelled out:
“We consider a challenge to our racial world-views as a challenge to our very identities as good, moral people… I could see the power of the belief that only bad people were racist… yet our simplistic definition of racism — as intentional acts of racial discrimination committed by immoral individuals — engenders a confidence that we are not part of the problem.”
Perhaps the discomfort I’m observing is indication we’ve found the problem.
The pressure point.
The moment in a massage where you go from gasping pain to gentle release. In yoga where the fire in your muscles gives way to an endorphin high. Where through personal transformation you move from deep resistance to personal freedom and self exploration.
What if it’s possible that I am a generally good person, and I have a significant gap and need to learn about systemic racism in America?
Can I get comfortable with that reality?
As DiAngelo would say, “and now breathe.”
Creating room for discomfort
In a moment where America is grappling with our hugely uncomfortable past that is still in many ways our present, we have an opportunity to allow for the discomfort of talking about racism.
Whether it’s challenging how I perceive myself, bringing up uncomfortable experiences, or addressing my relationship to family or history, by understanding our personal reactions to conversations about racism we can take steps to unpack and also support ourselves as we engage in this work.
We weren’t raised in a society that knows how to talk about racism. That’s the whole point.
So we are building this muscle ourselves, and as we do, we can draw on key principles of training for other weighty endeavors — whether a marathon, or a social justice movement.
A friend recently shared about DiAngelo’s book, “I’m glad we’re starting with just the first two chapters. It was a lot to take. I felt like a person who’d never worked out, and my trainer hit the workout at level 12 out of 10 right away.”
Another audacious friend once ran a literal marathon without training. They got sick to their stomach halfway through, and couldn’t finish.
(While you won’t find me in the gym or running a marathon, I seem to have a lot of friends that enjoy both.)
It’s not that they couldn’t run a marathon, or read DiAngelo’s book, it’s that these are new and intense activities, and any trainer (or teacher) will tell you that building strength takes time.
What care do you need as you build new muscles of learning about systemic racism?
The time is now
There’s a lot of newness for all of us right now — whether it’s adapting to a COVID-era world, or engaging in conversations about racism. We are all stretching in immense and important ways.
I don’t want to give up on this quest, and if you’ve made it this far in my blog, I’m willing to bet you don’t either.
So what do we need to ensure we can sustain this effort? To make it to the 26th mile (you’d think I actually run); to end systemic racism, and survive COVID-19?
Personally, I realized I need unscheduled time to process.
I’ve also made a commitment to get 8 hours of sleep nightly (ok not entirely new), and to a daily dose of deep relaxation through Yoga Nidra or Netflix.
I’m committed to these practices just as runners commit to stretching before a race, or hydrating after. They are just as important to my success as picking up the challenging antiracism book, having the difficult conversation, or even joining a protest.
What about you?
Where in your life do you need support to allow space for the discomfort?
And will you allow yourself to get uncomfortable?
