Stop Wasting Your Energy on People Who Don't Give a Sh*t

In the process of becoming a foster parent, you are asked to identify what sort of children you are willing to accept into your home. You can specify age, gender, disability status, race, etc. After a few discussions, Dustin and I decided that we could be open to any child up to age 5 without significant disabilities. I was in graduate school pursuing a doctorate in sociology when we got certified. Having studied a number of social issues (including race), I felt like I was relatively aware of the unique challenges a child of color might encounter and we thought we had a very inclusive community of friends and family, so we checked all of the race boxes. But intellectual awareness and emotional awareness are two very different things and I was about to get a first hand lesson in people not living up to my expectations of who they are. When we brought home a black boy, we were confronted head on with racism. What startled me the most was not the experience of racism, but who it was coming from. People who we loved, people who were "good Christians”, and people who we trusted were engaging in incredibly problematic behavior.

My first instinct was to offer grace and to help them see their words and actions as racist. I loved these people, I shared years and years of memories with some of them, and I desperately wanted them to remain in our lives but I could not continue to tolerate their behavior. Too much was at stake. A few people were willing to do the work, to self reflect, and change. But several people weren’t and that left us with an incredibly difficult choice to make. We could either cut ties with them, setting some very hard boundaries about what we were going to allow in our lives….or continue to expose our son to people who were deeply committed to white supremacy culture. Ultimately we walked away from some people we loved who were also toxic, inflexible, and more committed to their racism than they were to remaining a part of our lives.

It’s okay to do and say problematic things, we all have room to grow. It is not okay to refuse to do any self-reflection or remain open to feedback from the people you claim to care about. I am done wasting my energy on people who do not give a shit. There are people who I know and love who are ready to come to the table and do the work to disengage from white supremacy culture and dismantle racism and other systems of oppression. My time is better spent investing in those relationships than mourning the people we’ve lost along the way, even the ones I loved dearly. I could spend all my time and energy on those people, begging them to get it, but ultimately they are responsible for their own growth. It is not my job to save people. It is not my responsibility to continually and repeatedly spend my emotions, energy, and time on people who have zero interest in changing and have little regard for what I want/need in a relationship. I do not have to demand less of people simply because I love them and I am scared of alienating them. I am done lowering my expectations, biting my tongue, or writing problematic behavior off because “that’s just who they are”. My time, energy, and emotions are the most precious commodities I have and I am done wasting them on people who are committed to upholding systems of oppression.

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Interrupting the "isms": Doing Your Work Even When They Won't

Very few people are open to hearing that their behavior is problematic. If you’ve ever tried to give someone feedback that their “joke”/language/actions were racist/sexist/homophobic/transphobic, etc, you know exactly what I am talking about. Inevitably, the person who said the problematic thing immediately gets defensive and shifts the conversation...suddenly you are no longer discussing what actually happened, but instead you are discussing their intentions and how they would never do anything of the sort. I can almost hear the words now….“But I’m not a racist!”. Everyone suddenly begins to act as if the person who called out the problematic behavior is over-reacting. They downplay the entire thing or worse, say it just didn’t happen. Gaslighting is way too common. The script gets flipped so quickly that you begin to question if what you experienced was problematic at all or maybe if it even happened the way you remember it. You get emotionally exhausted so you disengage from the conversation. And, if this bizarre privileged dismissive defensive cycle has happened to you enough, my guess is you’ve backed off from having these tough conversations altogether. But can I challenge you to consider something? While healthy boundaries are important and your emotional well-being matters, your job, our collective job, is to keep showing up and calling out problematic behavior when we see it regardless of how that feedback will be received. We are not responsible for how people receive that feedback, we are just responsible for how we deliver it.

When I was in graduate school, it suddenly became very apparent to me how problematic a lot of my language was about race, class, gender, and sexuality. I loved putting people in boxes, boxes that I was learning were made up social constructs. My partner, Dustin, was gracious enough to learn alongside me. In the midst of doing this work, we found a handy tool in our apartment to help us recognize when we said over-simplified or problematic things. We had been gifted this tall heavy glass cylinder from Crate & Barrel as a wedding gift. When you thumped the top of it, it rang loudly like a bell…the sound echoing around the room. It became our “stereotype bell”. We started using it on ourselves first. Anytime we would notice the other person using language that was based primarily in a stereotype, we’d ring the bell. It was a non-threatening and disarming way to interrupt and communicate “hey, I think what you just said was problematic”. It was super effective. The bell was ringing loudly and often in our home. We were having hard and important conversations. Suddenly, we found ourselves introducing and utilizing the stereotype bell with most of our friends too. We were pushing back against social norms, challenging ourselves to think outside the box of what gender, sexuality, race, and class were. It was really productive and really effective and completely and totally not well received by some of our friends. They hated that damn bell. They hated that we wouldn’t let them make assumptions about people based on an identity. They hated being called out. They hated the discomfort of challenging their worldview. We literally lost friends over the stereotype bell. After one particularly heated moment with a dear friend, we stopped using the bell. We apologized, gave it away to a thrift shop, and backed off. We were in our early twenties and I am ashamed to say that we were more concerned with making people feel comfortable than with challenging norms. But that’s an incredibly privileged thing to be able to do…to say that my comfort is more important than progress. I know better now. I am trying to do better now. Even though I still retreat to my privilege at times, I am making a conscious effort to show up, to remember that I am not responsible for how the information is received, I am only responsible for delivering it. How I deliver it also matters, but that’s a discussion for another day.

Here are some things to remember when you’ve delivered feedback that was not well-received or if you are afraid to deliver feedback knowing that it won’t be well-received:

  • There is only one person you can control in this situation….yourself. You cannot control the other person’s reaction and you cannot force them to receive the feedback with grace. More often than not, their reaction isn’t even about you….it’s about their own insecurities and ignorance. Do the right thing. Show up. Interrupt racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, etc. Do it even when you know it won’t “go well”.

  • Even if you think it’s not going to matter if you speak up, speak up anyway. You never know what seed you are planting, what foundation you are laying, that may help someone do some harder and deeper work down the road. They may never come back around and say “hey, when you called me out, it really made an impact”…but that doesn’t mean you didn’t make an impact. This is often thankless work that we don’t get to reap the harvest of. Do it anyway.

  • Remember, intent and impact are different things and more often than not intent matters less than impact. I’d like to think that I am a mostly kind and thoughtful person. Yet, sometimes I say and do really problematic things. I hope I am surrounded by people who will keep calling me out even though they know my heart. Impact matters.

  • Take care of yourself emotionally and talk through these situations with someone who is committed to “doing the work” too. When you are being gaslighted, it’s important to have a third party to process things with. They can help you keep perspective when you are too far into the weeds of a situation.

Most importantly, the message I hope you walk away with here, is to keep showing up and interrupting problematic behavior when you see it. It will rarely be easy, but it will always be the right thing to do.

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Social Justice Book Club: Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

Every now and again we come across a book that literally changes how we see the world. Ta-Nehisi Coates’ “Between the World and Me” was one of those books for me. I suspect it had such an impact on me in part because it was released at a time in my life when I desperately needed it, but in many ways I think Coates’ words would have impacted me deeply no matter when they came to me because they are such a thoughtful and raw account of what it means to be black in America.

In August of 2010, I entered a doctoral program in sociology at Louisiana State University. We spent that first year of graduate school laying the groundwork for what would become our life’s work should we finish the program successfully and enter the world of academia. We were learning sociological theory, stats, and unpacking the social constructs that shaped our culture. I took whole classes dedicated to understanding race. I thought I had a decent handle on how race worked in our culture, but what I failed to see was that my understanding was limited to a solely intellectual understanding. Without the emotional understanding, the empathy of what it might feel like to be black in our culture, my understanding was dangerously incomplete. If I am being totally honest, my whiteness and privilege had allowed me to exempt myself from that work. Why should I try to understand the pain/fears/traumas/etc black people experience when instead I could stay safe and comfortable in my white bubble? Hadn’t I “done enough” by learning and acknowledging the reality of racism? It hurts me to write that now, but owning the ways in which I have used my privilege to exempt me from this deeply emotional work is a critical step in my never allowing it to happen again.

In early 2011, my husband and I started the process of becoming certified foster parents. During the application and interview process we were asked several times what sort of children we would be open to- age, race, gender, disability status, etc. It never crossed my mind to say that I was ill-equipped to raise a child of a different race because I very naively thought that I was in a much better position than most people given my academic experience. I thought I knew all that I needed to know about race. How deeply and dangerously naive of me. We were officially certified as foster parents in early August of 2011 and ready to start taking placements. Just two weeks later, we got a call about a baby being discharged from the hospital. I loaded myself into my car and in a quiet corner of the PICU, I met the tiny black baby that would one day become our son.

We brought him home and reveled in him, but it became apparent to me very quickly that I was not as prepared as I thought I was. I’ve written elsewhere about the racism I started to see when our son was a newborn, but I was thrown into the deep-end after having only stood in a kiddie pool. I know now how much work I had not done. I know now how little my academic experience and book smarts had prepared me for the lived experience of racism. I still know that I will only ever understand a tiny fraction of my son’s experience of the world. I am sorry it took me so long to realize those things, I am so sorry that it took me having something significant to lose to open my eyes, but I am committed to spending the rest of my life continuing to learn and listen.

Our son was in our care for two and a half years before we adopted him. In that time we had five different case workers, a common experience in the foster care system where turn over is high. I will never forget a worker we had for several months about a year and a half into the case. She was a middle aged black woman, kind but assertive (at least that’s how I perceived her at the time). She came to check in on our son once a month and every time she would spend a significant amount of time asking us how we were going to raise him in his culture, how we were going to help him navigate his blackness. And when she left, I was always angry. I felt like she didn’t trust us. I felt like she was questioning our intentions. I felt like she was calling us racist, that we were going to attempt to erase our son’s blackness. I was making a home in my white fragility. What I know now is that she knew what it meant to be black in America and she knew that there was no way I was going to ever be able to understand that experience. I know now that she knew it was inevitable that on some level our son would lose some of his blackness if he was raised in a white family, steeped in white culture. I know now that she was trying to be a really great advocate for our son, to protect him, to push us to think about these issues. I am grateful to her now. I wish I could tell her sorry for pushing back, for getting defensive, for just not getting it at the time.

We finalized his adoption in 2014 and the full weight of what it meant to raise a black boy in America came crashing down on me. Up until the adoption was finalized, it had not solely been my responsibility to keep him safe, and now it absolutely and undeniably was. I was terrified. About seven months after our son’s adoption, Laquan McDonald was killed by a Chicago Police Officer. In the midst of my undoing, Laquan’s murder broke me open. I suddenly realized that it didn’t matter how much I thought I knew if it wouldn’t keep my son alive. I suddenly realized that one day it could be my own son’s name in the headlines, his life literally taken because of racism. I suddenly had something of significant value to lose. I had to set my ego aside and open myself up to continuing to learn and grow, to recognizing how little work I had done up until then- owning the fact that hundreds of hours of reading and research and a degree would never help me to understand what it felt like to navigate our culture as a black person. And then, in July of 2015, “Between the World and Me” was released.

Coates writes this book as an open letter to his son, who was about to turn 15, detailing his experiences as a black person in America while tying those deeply personal experiences back to broader social issues. He reflects on coming to terms with his own blackness and outlines the hopes and fears he has for his son despite the many cultural changes that have happened since his own upbringing. I think it would be impossible not to be moved by Coates’ account. It is poetic and raw in a way that I haven’t seen before. Too often when we talk about racism in America, we fail to adequately account for the lived experience of black people. We spend a lot of time talking about broad structural issues and too little time making space for the emotion of what it feels like to be black in America, the experience of those structures. While Coates’ story is just one of many, it is a great place to start. In my opinion, we cannot forge a path forward until we acknowledge the pain and complexity of those who live this reality, until we engage emotionally as well as intellectually, until we (white people) stop hiding behind our privilege and do the work.

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