Doing the work to be a better ally.

This past Tuesday was probably the most difficult day of the past 90 (or however many have gone by now) in quarantine. I woke up at 4:52 a.m. feeling overwhelmed, helpless, and alone. Come 9 a.m., I was hunched over on my bed — drenched in my own sweat post-run — when I realized two things: 1. I needed to shower and 2. I needed to make a change.

I don’t love confrontation, but there I was — at a full-on effin’ crossroads with myself.

I was tired of my own inaction. I’m a person who does things. A person who wants to make a difference. A person who wants to show up and be kind and stand for what’s right. So why was I so hung up on showing up in the “wrong” way? Why was I standing in my own way?

I got up. I needed to move. I picked up my bicycle, and walked down the four flights of stairs. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I’d be gone for a while.

I knew I’d be gone until I had a plan of attack. 

I made my way across the park and over to the west side. The wind was whipping, and the skies were overcast. The first question came into my head: What have you already done?

It began a few weeks back, with me buying a few books (So You Want to Talk About Race and White Fragility) to read and diving in. I downloaded a few movies and documentaries (some options, below). I started to have a lot (and I mean a lot) of conversations I’ve never had before with some of my closest friends. Growing up in Trumbull, Connecticut (80 percent white) and going to UConn (61 percent white students), many of them share my skin tone. We talked about our upbringings. We talked about the current social climate. With my white friends, we talked about our own privilege, and how it has played into who we are today. We talked about how we could be better.

From these conversations, I learned. I learned that it’s not just me who feels unsure. I learned that most of my white female friends have a mutual worry for unintentionally disrespecting people of color, and we agreed that it's important to do everything we can to have hard conversations. We talked about what it looks like to offer true support, rather than saying I’m just checking in, you good? I found comfort in knowing that my friends near and far — regardless of race — all want to be a part of a solution. 

But still struggled with the answer to my question: What can I really do right now? 

As I pondered this, I realized that I was rolling toward a peaceful march up First Avenue near my apartment. I’m sure you’ve seen the news, but these are happening multiple times a day around my city. I got off my bike, and I started walking. Looking. Listening. At first, I felt nervous, and admittedly a bit sad. I felt my privilege seep in. I thought I wish we were in a better place. I worried about being in a large crowd, clicking forward each step in cycling shoes.

About 20 minutes later, I had made it back home. Upon arriving, I started by donating to two organizations (Black Girls Run and Justice for David McAtee). Then, I began researching. I was doing so much digging on my own, that I felt like it was important to create a running list of helpful resources. So, I compiled said list, including things like podcasts, shows, books, movies, and organizations. I put out a call for Black business owners to reach out to me so I can offer them advertising space, for free, on the show next week (if this is you, email me!).

I finally felt like I was doing something.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was something.

I woke up on Wednesday and felt invigorated to do more. A new day to be better, I thought to myself. I had more conversations, many which occurred on social media with strangers that admittedly made me uncomfortable — but held a lot of value. I realized, after a difficult 24 hours, that I needed that particularly troublesome morning to be able to move forward. Me taking the time to recognize my privilege and ask what can I do to be better? had to happen. 

I finally felt ready to fight. 
Ready to serve. 

Wednesday night, I was walking home from a quick errand when I heard the rumble, looked up, and there it was — another peaceful march. This time, I didn’t feel nervous. I knew I wanted to join. I bumped into a friend walking up to the group, offered him an elbow bump, and we did so together. 

Walking. 
Chanting. 
Supporting.

I was proud to stand side-by-side with people of all colors. I was proud to yell:

Black lives matter.

Now, I’m following accounts on Instagram that have information about upcoming protests, speakers, and vigils around New York, so I can decide where to engage next. I’m still actively listening, talking, and sharing. I’m working to stand by Black people, because it’s what’s right.

Today, I’ll leave you with this: It’s OK to feel sad. It’s OK to feel frustrated. It’s NOT OK to linger in that malaise.

It may have taken me some time, 
but I’m here to fight —
and I’m not leaving. 

Note: As you may have noticed, I made the decision to hold off on posting to the Hurdle feed this week, after releasing Aliphine Tuliamuk’s episode on Monday. Next week, I’ll be back with five days of reposts highlighting Black guests, with the goal to amplify and reshare their stories in my commitment to become a better ally. For today’s newsletter, all of the highlights I’m sharing are anti-racism resources. As always, please feel free to reach out with additional resources that I can include next week and as the days go on. Lastly, if you have any suggestions for upcoming guests — I’m all ears.

---

PROMPT: What is it that you want to say right now that you’re not saying already? Who can you talk to about your feelings in the coming week?