When the pandemic started I was an anxious wreck. I had two panic attacks, one with a 911 call, in the first 3 weeks and had the worst time sleeping.
I cured that.
When the mix of home schooling four kids, working from home and graduate school made me irritable and frustrated.
I cured that.
When I was worried about finding a new place to live, my finances, and pulling all of my resources, while still navigating my everyday life.
I cured that.
But when I shed tears for my people who are being murdered at the hands of those who took an oath to “serve and protect” or the ones whose skin has given them a lifetime warranty of privilege.
I feel I can’t cure that.
My people are not a disease.
We are not an infection that’s ravaging and spreading across this nation causing illness, stress and death.
We are not a virus that’s claiming bodies left and right with no end in sight with an antibiotic to make it better.
We are not the epidemic!
We are clearly victims.
Victims who are still fighting for lives that have been lost and lives that are still right beside us.
Victims who still carry the stress, mental anguish and pain from our ancestors who only wanted to be seen as equals but also did not ask to be here in this nation.
Victims who have been peaceful, compliant, “yes sir,” “no ma’am,” hands up, mouth closed, following commands but still in a grave.
Victims that not only shed tears due to personal circumstances but shed tears because of the plight we have to face day after day after day.
But even through us being the victims, we won’t let that mentality overtake us.
We are continuing to fight
We are continuing to yell
We are continuing to show ourselves
Our blackness is not a disease, infection or virus that you should be scared of.
It is a gift from God that was bestowed upon us
And we will not apologize for it.
Art by Christyal Rood. IG: @creativechrist
Life Lessons from a Novice 