When the trial for Derek Chauvin, the man who murdered George Floyd, was going on, I have to admit, I didn’t watch much of it. I found that I was too overwhelmed with thinking about the possibility that Chauvin would get off that I had to ignore the coverage for a few days. After it was over I went back and watched the videos of the trial, because I already knew the outcome. It still angered me, but I didn’t feel the anxiety of wondering what the verdict would be.
No matter what the outcome of the trial, my future safety was not going to be affected, because I’m white. Some have attempted the pathetic argument that white people are experiencing racism because people have preconceived notions about them. Spoiler alert, white people can’t experience racism, and if you disagree you probably won’t want to read any further. I have never had to worry about how I would be treated by police other than hoping I don’t get a speeding ticket. I have never been followed in a store. The majority of the characters in popular books, movies, and television shows look like me. When I buy flesh toned items, they match my skin. When emojis first came out they all matched my skin color. While some of these things may seem minor, that’s because I’ve never had to think about them.
My skin, and so many other qualities I have no control over, allows me to be ignorant, in ways that I didn’t even realize. Yes I know, that is kind of the definition of ignorant. I recently watched the six-episode series, Women of the Movement. It was while watching this that I was again reminded of my ignorance, and the privilege that it is. I’m not only ignorant about racism. My ignorance is quite broad. It wasn’t until I was pushing my son in a stroller that I realized how inaccessible common places are. Simple tasks, such as visiting a popular downtown area was close to impossible due to having a stroller. I was still able to pick the stroller up and carry it up or down a few steps. It was an inconvenience, but didn’t prevent me from living. I didn’t realize how ignorant I was about language barriers until working in a medical office. Appointments for people needing interpreters took significantly longer, and I’m not sure they were as productive as those where the provider spoke the language of the family. I didn’t realize how ignorant I was about access to transportation until my car needed some work and I had to rely on a $25 Uber to bring my son to daycare and get to work because there was no bus that went along the route I needed. Even if there was, it would probably take two hours to make a 20 minute trip. I didn’t realize how ignorant I was about having a partner to raise children with until COVID hit and I didn’t have to worry about taking my children with me to the grocery store. I didn’t realize how ignorant I was about public bathrooms until people I love were verbally attacked because they wanted pee in the bathroom that fit their gender. If I had to go, I easily found a place, and went. This is just a glimpse of my ignorance. Like I said, my ignorance is extensive.
Ignorance is one of those privileges that no matter how much we learn there is always more ignorance. Each time I learn one new thing about the experience of others I find ten new things I didn’t know about. It builds up fast.
Ignorance happens. But it’s not bliss. Like other privileges it’s something I am responsible for recognizing it in myself and working to decrease the inequality gap that my privilege allows me to benefit from.
Tonight, when I put my white sons to sleep, I won’t have to worry about the color of their skin and how it impacts their safety. But I’m not the only person in the world, so I will continue to love and fight for those who do have to worry, and hopefully one day The Dream will come true.
I imagine you have heard this, thought this, or even said it yourself. Why? Why is this such a common theme this year?
Does it have anything to do with approaching two years into a seemingly endless worldwide pandemic?
Yes.
“But this year is different. People are vaccinated. Kids are in school. Life has started to return to normal. So why this year? Last year didn’t feel like this.”
651.
That’s the number of days from March 13, 2020 to December 24, 2021. The number of days we have been in this pandemic. Call it a hoax. Call it a glorified cold. Call it fake. Call it whatever you want. It has changed the world.
This year has been traumatic for many. Something to keep in mind, we don’t get to decide what is traumatic for someone else. What one person may see as trauma, another may not. The DSM-5 (the purple book I open daily) defines trauma as “exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violence.” It goes on to list how this can be witnessed or happen directly to a person.
For the past 651 days we have experienced a roller coaster of trauma. First there was the uncertainty. Two weeks of lockdown. Followed by two more. Followed by two more. Will schools open? Will I go back to work? Will I have to split my time between making sure my kids are doing their online schooling while I work from home? Is it safe to go the store? Do I have a mask? Should I buy this $10 bottle of hand sanitizer? I can’t find diapers for my child! I miss my friends. I miss my family. Is it safe to take the bus? Why can’t we see grandma? So many thoughts and questions. There was a little hope. Maybe summer will be normal!
Nope.
Then summer ends. The excitement of school possibly starting. A deep breath held, ready to jump back into life.
Nope again. Loud exhale. More online school. More expectations. Working from home. Is it safe to see people? How can I juggle all this? Will we be ok? Will this ever end?
Then a glimmer of hope. Deep breath. The vaccine. December 13, 2020 the first trucks left the Pfizer plant carrying the COVID vaccine. A sigh of relief. Tears of joy. Are we almost done? People line up to get the vaccine. Groups of people becoming eligible as each new week begins. Is it my turn yet? Relief. Tears. Excitement. Hold up.
Sigh. The kids. What about the kids? When is it their turn? More testing and research. Waiting. Waiting.
Now it’s their turn. We’re getting there! Don’t get too excited. Just a small breath this time. Here comes a variant. And another. Nope. We’re not there. Breathe out.
With each hill of excitement and hope, comes the crash of disappointment and fear. Up and down. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Trauma does strange things to the body. Everyone we take that deep breath in of hope, followed by the sigh of disappointment we change. Protect ourselves. Don’t get so excited next time, so the let down won’t feel as bad. When that roller coaster keeps going up and down eventually the hills get smaller, until it’s just a flat road.
651 days later we’re on that road. Sure, the holidays are nice. But you forgot how to feel excited. Your body and brain don’t let you anymore, to protect you from the disappointment that feels inevitable.
With trauma, especially when repeated, our body figures out how to protect itself. It suppresses thoughts, feelings, and physical sensations. We begin to feel numb. Feeling nothing is better than the alternative. We don’t consciously choose which sensations to suppress. It’s all or nothing.
So, if you’re feeling unusual this season. Wondering why you can’t find joy in this time like you have in the past. Wondering why you aren’t as excited about celebrating the holiday you celebrate. You’ve been through a traumatic 651 days. Tomorrow is day 652.
We will get there. This will end. Not if. But when. When it finally does well cautiously step out, making sure it’s safe, and will let out a final sigh of relief. Then the real work will begin, healing from the trauma that has been the past 651 days.