I’ve always detested the saying, “turn lemons into lemonade.” I don’t like lemonade. A friend from the high school days came up with turning lemons into a lemon martini because that fits me better. I wholeheartedly agree.
I know it has been a few months since I last posted something original. Some good things have happened during this hiatus. Heck, I’ll even say some great things have happened! Unfortunately, some truly sad and upsetting things have happened too.
Is it possible to get through a month without trauma, sadness, rage, disappointment and frustration? I’m continuously thrown into the depths of despair because I expect too much of people and get hurt when they don’t show up the way I thought they would. The more I talk openly about race, the more I see the true colors of so-called friends who I never dreamed would have a racist bone in their body. I have officially lost the ability to trust and be vulnerable with people. When I say people, I am referring to white people because I only have four black true friends.
Of course, I know not every white friend will let me down, but I can literally feel my cloak of armor wrapping me tighter to fend off the possibility of hurtful words. To this day, I am most surprised by the racism within the cancer community. I naively thought the cancer space would be free from that kind of bullshit but sadly it’s not.
The more I keep trying to be my authentic self, the more alone and isolated I feel. I often feel like the only single person on this planet.
I no longer feel like a warrior.
I no longer feel strong.
I no longer feel hopeful.
This world continues to be so cruel and oppressive. I’m desperately trying to let go of past and current hurts and let offensive and racist words roll off my protective cloak. The harsh truth is there will never be relief while in this skin because racism will never end. It seeps into everything.
I wanted to read the words below out loud so you can feel the full emotions in my words.
I think many can agree 2020 has been like an episode of The Twilight Zone played on a loop. It was like the lid on Pandora’s box was forced opened and nothing could stop the chain of events. The pure hatred, corruption, greed, rage, white privilege, and selfishness of people boiled over.
There were days where I could embrace the suck through challenging myself professionally and spiritually. I was able to rise up for myself with a new confidence. I felt bolder, inspired, empowered, and even thankful because I took the professional risks I had been wanting to take for years and years. Instead of shying away from risks, I finally had the ability to get off that hamster wheel and believe in my talents. How I wish I had had this forced pause and push back in my 20’s but better late than never, right?
I have also never felt more afraid, paranoid, heartbroken, horrified, and filled with a level 4 kind of rage than I have this year. I witnessed two of those “Karens” during the summer. I had more racist remarks directed toward me. The horrific images of Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd being murdered by white men who smiled will haunt me forever. Police uniforms and red hats became the modern Ku Klux Klan attire. There was no need for them to cover their faces anymore. That racist tRump and the GOP gave a green light because they knew there would not be any consequences.
My soul cracked.
Instead of solely focusing my blog about cancer, I felt I had to start writing about racism and the difficulties I continue to face both inside and outside of cancerland. I stopped being nervous about possibly offending people. Blogging my point of view and experiences of the past and present was a way to keep from going insane.
I really wanted the white people I knew and those I did not know to see my face and that I am not immune to have racist comments spewed at me. This year truly let me know that it does not matter how educated, talented, and classy I am. At the end of the day, I will always, always be seen as a black woman first.
When I wrote the blog post “Mixed Fragility,” it was the first time I had truly uncomfortable conversations with myself about race, how I am perceived, and how I perceive others. I technically have two black female friends and one black male friend. They can relate to a lot of what I feel on a daily basis. It was the first time I have had that.
How does one ever heal from severe trauma when it is their existence causing all the pain and turmoil? Even though I am still not accepted in the black world – no invitations to the barbeque – something changed for me when thinking about all the white people I know. I began to pull away from the white friends in my inner circle. In fact, I would say I am still pulling away.
What I say next is not to anyone specifically. It would be rude to call out people by name. It is what I experienced heavily this year, so I’m speaking to the general white population.
So here I go…
I get so sick of white people saying not everything is about race.
I get so sick of white people questioning me and not believing me when I share a racist experience.
I get so sick of white doctors dismissing my pain and talking down to me.
I get so sick of white people being unable to control their surprised facial expressions when they hear my voice.
I get so sick of white people feeling the need to tell me about black people and black organizations within the cancer community.
I get so sick of white people feeling the need to start any conversation about race by saying they will never know what it is like to be black and how that feels.
I get so sick of white people not believing there is racism within the medical community.
I cannot even be viewed as just a cancer survivor because groups and organizations make it noticeably clear they label me as a BLACK cancer survivor; therefore, I must be an expert on all black-related issues. I thought the days of being used as a black token were gone. It has never been more apparent how many white people view me.
As I write this, I can almost hear the thoughts of any white person reading this. I know you are thinking “what am I supposed to say” and “I’m not a racist” and “I don’t view you as black” and “I don’t see color” and “why are so many black people angry.”
While I am excelling professionally, I am a wreck personally. I no longer know who to trust. Some of the places and people I thought were safe showed their true colors. No one, including me, knows how to categorize me. I do not fit in any common mold. I am unapologetically ME.
So, while I had some amazing and one of kind opportunities come my way this year, I continue to grapple with depression, pain, loneliness, rage, hurt, and confusion. This James Baldwin quote is one I have used repeatedly this year. It is the first time I feel what he felt. I wonder if 2021 will be any different.
It is important for me to thank all of you for taking the time to read my blog this year. While the bulk of my posts took courage to write and share, I acknowledge it took courage for you to read it. I read every single comment, negative and positive, that I received. Life can shove many of us off the rails with unforeseen challenges, unexpected deaths of friends and family, and hard truths revealed. What I do know is I will continue to be bold, work through the uncomfortable thoughts and feelings, and keep sharing my truth.
Thank you for coming on board the cancer train of vulnerability and mixed emotions.
I have really neglected my blog which upsets me because it is one of my major coping mechanisms to keep pushing forward in this insane world. Writing is a way to gauge my mental health. That aside from a busy work schedule due to my fulltime job, multiple freelance jobs, and volunteering for multiple events last month, I did not make the time to write out my thoughts.
I am sure I am not the only one who sometimes packs their schedules so much that it leaves no time for self-care. I know I intentionally did not make the time to write.
I did not want to feel.
I did not want to think.
I did not to acknowledge anything.
Today is the first time in a while where I am not obligated to attend a Zoom or run errands. I honestly do not want to write out the flood of thoughts that have been whirling in my head for the past few months. Writing it down will make it real.
The darkness.
The sadness.
The hurt.
The rage.
I am currently taking a six-week journaling class through a young adult cancer group to help process and release some of these thoughts and feelings. In this class, we are given a prompt and journal whatever feelings arise, then write feedback to what we wrote, and then share with the class. I took it last year and loved it. However, this year is different. Though I’ve had many truly amazing and exciting things happen this year (see my About page),the stress of living in a divided country where I’ve had racist encounters and racists comments directed toward me in places I thought were safe has thrown me into the sunken place – if you watched the Jordan Peel movie Get Out, you’ll understand that reference.
So, I wrote just a snippet about the rage that is boiling over within me and read it out loud to the class. There was the uncomfortable silence one gets when talking about race to a sea of white faces. The journaling therapist asked for everyone to hold some space for me and give words of support. Though I get what she was trying to do, it only made me more upset because no one was being authentic, except for the one guy in there who I talk to on a regular basis.
To this day, I remember posting my blog piece from last year called Cancer and Race in one of the lobular breast cancer groups. A white woman responded, “Race has no place in the cancer space.” I have never forgotten how her ignorant comment gut punched me. Then I think about talking with other people in other cancer organizations and one of the first things typically said is, “We work with black organizations that we can connect you with.” Why does my color make you so nervous and uncomfortable?
I am never seen as just a writer, speaker, cancer survivor, chronic illness haver, or patient advocate. Add the word Black in front of each one and that is how people see me first. Always.
If I want to be part of Black only groups or organizations, I know where to go. It is beyond insulting when a white person tries to segregate me, especially within the cancer space. Stop trying push square MEG into a round hole. It cannot be done. Ever.
I decided to repost this piece that was originally published last year in August. I’ve been struggling as I continue to watch the Chauvin murder trial. It reminded me again about the problem with words as the defense attorney of that murderer tried to assassinate the character of George Floyd. Is there no bottom with people like that?
I think about the way I’ve been talked down to by nurses and doctors. How invalidating and condescending they can be until I open my mouth and set them straight. Why is everything dictated by the color of my skin? Why can’t I just been seen as a quirky human and talked to with respect?
Once again, my creative mind isn’t functioning well at this moment. My professional life is on FIRE in an amazing way. I have taken on the role as Partnership Director with GRYT Health and asked to be a contributing blogger for WebMD starting next month. I should be over the moon, right? Right?
Unfortunately, my personal life of existing in this body and in this skin color leaves me utterly depleted and unable to turn to the creative outlets that have brought comfort in the past. So, I might repost some of my previously written blogs over the next few weeks because I’m still going through some things. Plus, most of what I’ve previously written is what I am struggling with now. After all, it’s okay to NOT be okay.
Original Post
As I was seeing beautiful black and white pictures of women for the #challengeaccepted posts on Instagram, I decided to use it as an opportunity to post the ugly things I’ve been told over the years. I know it shocked some people because my picture was cute but the words below it were tough to see. I felt it was important to express how words can be so damaging to a person’s psyche.
I kept it short on Instagram but decided to expand on it to see how far I’ve come in my own healing and thinking. No one should be told these things. I don’t know why I had to be the person on the receiving end of such hate and ignorance. It’s unfair. It’s unjust. It’s painful. It’s a problem with words.
I’ve been called a nigger.
I’ve been called ugly.
I’ve been called fat by men.
I’ve been called stupid by a teacher.
I’ve been called stupid by an employer.
I’ve been told I will fail.
I’ve been told I don’t matter.
I’ve been told I don’t exist.
I’ve been told I don’t belong.
I’ve been told I’m a sellout.
I’ve been called too emotional.
I’ve been called weak.
I’ve been called an Oreo.
I’ve been called unfeeling.
I’ve been called a valley girl.
I’ve been told I act too white.
I’ve been told I dress too white.
I’ve been told I’m not loveable.
I’ve been told I speak so well.
I’ve been told I’m not black enough.
My psyche has been systematically torn to pieces for 20+ years by the ignorance and racism from whites and blacks that started in my hometown of Macon, GA and has followed me through the years as a young adult and in the professional world. I reread my journal this morning from senior year of high school in 1995 and still have a visceral reaction to my words.
The pain of not being accepted.
The pain of being bullied.
The pain of desperately wanting to leave the south.
I never felt I belonged anywhere until the college years, especially junior and senior years at The College of Saint Rose in Albany, NY. That’s why I hold onto my college memories so fiercely because I found a group of friends so eclectic, smart, clever, and so accepting that I felt safe to be authentically me at that time. I’m glad I have scrapbooks and multiple photo albums that captured the fun times and great opportunities from that magical time in my life.
I honestly thought once I became a working adult that my work ethic and merit would get me ahead. As more years went by, the more oppressed and defeated I became. I would be told I’m an “expert,” yet companies could never find the money to give me a proper raise. They would be shocked when I turned in my resignation and then have the nerve to ask, “Is there anything we can do to keep you from leaving?”
I had been carrying all that negativity from racism, oppression, and feelings of inferiority on my back for so many years that I lost complete faith in my abilities and talent. I used to think it was a cruel joke that I received multiple awards in high school and college. I was constantly told I would be going places because of my talent. It turned out none of it counted in the “real world.”
My cancer experience redefined me. It helped to rediscover my voice that had been silenced for so long that I thought it was lost forever. I’ll never consider cancer a gift, but it was an opportunity to rediscover the things that once brought me true joy. Yet, I was still playing it too safe. I wasn’t fully taking back what control I had left over my life. I was remaining comfortable in the uncomfortable; still too paralyzed to make any serious moves.
It took a pandemic to force me to pause and pivot not just my career but also my mindset. Rereading that journal from my 17-18-year-old self this morning reminded me how much I’ve carried the hurt from people’s words that ultimately turned me into a shell of my former myself.
I’ve had a resurgence of my passions and confidence while rekindling old friendships and cultivating new and profound friendships. My mindset changed once I fully began to believe in myself and know my worth thanks to a lot of help from my friends. I’m blessed to have so many people continue to lift me up even when I’ve doubted myself all these years.
So, here’s what I repeat to myself now that I’ve shed that cloak of negativity that was suffocating me.
I AM intelligent.
I AM talented.
I AM worthy.
I AM inspirational.
I AM feminine.
I AM a writer.
I AM a performer.
I AM a Nut-Meg.
I AM a talker.
I AM a powerhouse.
I AM loving.
I AM sensitive.
I AM giving.
I AM kind.
I AM enough.
My newfound armor continues to grow thicker each day, so insulting or hateful words or rude comments no longer sting. They smoothly roll off my back.
I am different and always will be. And you know what? That is OKAY.
Life On The Cancer Train 