I’m getting ready to do my weekly clean of our home, when I feel a familiar pang of anxiety come over me. Then another. And another. And another, until the pangs become an aching. A drowning. Continue reading being a Woman (this Woman) in the time of trump
I have been scrolling through my newsfeed the last few days, reading, “liking,” and sharing certain articles addressing the devastating news of the killing of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile by police officers. Even just typing that sentence feels disgusting and cowardly. I’ve been silent beside those swipes of my fingers. I have felt sick, enraged, helpless, guilty, hopeless, devastated, and weak.
Although, quite frankly, I’m not sure it matters how I feel…and coming from a therapist, I know that is a pretty rich thing to say. I say that because it doesn’t matter what I feel in this situation, it matters what I do (or don’t do). It matters what I say (and don’t say). It’s like I tell my clients, young and old, feelings are there to tell you something, often to spring you into action, hopefully thoughtful action. But here I am. Actionless. White, privileged, and absolutely zero action.
Continue reading my silence and inaction as a white person.