…I think I was relieved to shift focus to whiteness, and even *default* to assuming that the culture we make is white-centered.
It’s because I haven’t reconciled the following fear: what if, by recording how black millennial women learn through healing, I pathologize us—create a new monolith that’s then used to exploit and erase people like me?
What if, by writing about this, I actually participate and help that which is anti-black woman? What if, by writing about this, I give white society more black woman-produced culture to universalize and sell back to us, just as numerous cultural tropes have been appropriated?
How is it not safer, and even more equitable to visibilize whiteness so that we can, well, cure it?
I can’t help anticipating the unintended consequences.
And yet, I also cannot ignore that leading with how black millennial women learn/heal offers its own promise of restoring order in a way that liberates. And not just someone else *like* me, but *especially* me. And perhaps *that* is the honest root of my fear. That I could be liberated by my own undoing (unraveling/analysis/critical inquiry), and therefore haven’t much ethical option but to press forward in this line of questioning.
I’ll have to let go of the insistence that I have control over my destiny, a reaction to racist and sexist notions that my life absolutely is *not* mine. I’ll have to undo everything I’ve learned thus far in order to cope with being a woman amidst patriarchy and being raced black, which I think is it’s own kind of displacement because it isn’t specific *enough* to place, ancestry or culture.
By exploring how I learn and heal, and further perhaps, how I learn *through* healing, I’m undoing everything that keeps me alive on white societal terms, everything that’s preserved my survival. I don’t know what it is to be liberated; I just know it can’t happen without a death someway.
A special thanks to Anisha Desai for encouraging this continued line of inquiry.