A Tired Soul With A Heavy Heart

I’ve tried to write this for an entire week. I’ve battled internally on what I should say or if I should say it. There’s no way to ease into this topic. So here we go…

I woke up today and laid here for a while. I pretended I was still sleep so Turtle (my fur baby) wouldn’t bother me. I placed my leg over B’s to feel his warmth. I laid there feeling SO heavy.

I pray a lot but I converse with God even more. This morning’s heaviness resulted in conversation. A lot of questions were asked, not only of Him but of myself as well.

I thought back to a time when my dad told my sister & I that he was called a nigger at work. He replied, “I’m Hispanic but my wife & kids are black!”, and knocked the guy out. I thought back to a time when my mom told us she remembered being in elementary and being teased for the color of her skin. I thought back to a time when my aunt said she use to get in fights all time because people would negatively comment on the magnificent melanin of a darker shade that some of her siblings had.

I thanked God for a constant covering over my life & then I asked Him for covering over all Black men and women. I asked God to lift the heaviness from our hearts. This load my people are carrying is suffocating. We’ve carried it silently (and not so silently) for generations. Now here we are, in the middle of a global pandemic, trying to fight for equality and justice, while praying the men and women we love return to us safely.

I’m hurt. I’m torn. I’m trying to be a safe place for the black man that I’m in love with & the countless other black men & women that I love. I’m angry. I’m weary. I want to deactivate all social media but I also want to leave it active so I can stay “informed”. (I use that word lightly because I believe the media is definitely more wicked than people realize and there’s a lot more solidarity happening & good being done that what’s being portrayed.)

But I’m also hopeful. I’m covered. I’m alive. I have a voice.

So what do we do? What do I do?

Truthfully, I don’t know. What I do know is that I have to use my voice to say this:

BLACK LIVES MATTER ✊🏽 We as a people (all POCs) have been treated like less-than citizens for generations. We want to be seen, heard, and treated like our white counterparts. We want to stop living in fear. We want our hearts to stop racing every time we realize our brothers, sons, fathers, and uncles have been gone for longer than we thought they’d take. We want justice. We want murders held accountable. We want fair sentencing. We want equality.

All day I have held back tears. My father told me today, “I’m so sorry for bringing you into such a messed up world”. That was heartbreaking. Now I’m sitting here questioning whether it’s fair of me to have this longing to bring a life into this world.

The protests & riots are getting closer and closer to my little country town. I’m torn between partaking in the protests or remaining safe in my home. I’m torn between supporting my love and brothers who want to go out and protest, when I just want them to be home and be safe. I’m torn between feeling like I’m letting my people down because I haven’t went out & joined forces with them.

We are living in a time that our predecessors have witnessed before. The protesting, the riots, the need (and want) for change from most.

If only we all cared about each other the way we care for ourselves…

If you care about the black community, reach out. Have genuine conversation. Use your voices to educated those closet (or open) racists that you know. Show empathy. Show support.

MY PEOPLE ARE TIRED.

I. AM. TIRED.

Until next time; Be YOU. Do YOU. LOVE YOU 💜

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