My Anxiety Is Having A Hot Girl Summer

My anxiety is shaking her ass as I type. I’ve been trying to write this blog for two weeks straight. 

Every time I attempt to make progress: 

[anxiety has entered the chat] 

People are gonna pity you. Uhh, maybe they won’t. 

You’re gonna make the white allies mad. Maybe. 

Your white friends will be uncomfortable. I’m uncomfortable. 

What if you annoy the Black community? I doubt I will. 

You know no one cares what you have to say, right? Maybe not.  

Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care? Ok sis, now we’re just singing RENT.

What the fuck does “speak truth to power” mean, or even look like for you? ...Shit, ion know!

Anxiety has found a permanent home within me and is now registered at Bed, Bath, & Beyond, eagerly awaiting her housewarming gifts. She’s done well for herself in 2020. Ms. Rona made herself right at home in America by joining in the racism games. The virus hit black communities disproportionately harder. Beyond the obvious health risks, when unemployment rates skyrocketed to an all-time high, guess who lost their jobs the most? Black and brown women. Surprised? Neither am I. When white supremacy showed up to the dancery with all the hateration and holleration, my anxiety was right there to remind me that I was disposable. She was having the time of her life. While headlines for articles covering CoronaVirus and white supremacy clogged my notification center, my anxiety basked in the glow of my phone as I read information until bags formed under my eyes. It wasn’t cute. It was a new high for her, CoronaVirus, and racism? All at the beginning of June? Yep. This bitch was officially having a hot girl summer without me. 

[anxiety has entered the chat]

So what’s gonna get you first, girl? Rona or Racism? Neither, damn. Morbid ass. 

Well it looks like racism is gonna get ya first. No. I will be brave. I am proud of my blackness and will not live in fear.

Oh, that’s cute. You mean you finna wear your afro today? You tryna be a target now, Angela Davis? It’s my hair, I’m not going to let you talk me out of wearing my fro.

Bitch do a twist-out and stop playing with me! “Do you want a revolution? Whoop! Whoop!” looking ass. Fine. Please just go away.

I’ve decided to refer to this time (Black History month in June) as “The White Awakening”. For the first time, it appears as though anti-racism is mainstream. It’s trendy. I feel excited, nervous, overprotective, and proud. On the other side of the same coin, it has also become the nutrients on which my anxiety feeds. 

It’s complex for me. I thought this was what I wanted. In my head, when I spoke to white people about systemic racism, microaggressions, and oppression, I think I imagined them coming together in a kumbaya kind of way. Offering hugs and maybe a little reparation. I did not, however, imagine democrats kneeling in fucking kente cloth. Then again, did anyone? I always imagined The White Awakening looking like that scene in “The Wiz”, where all the Black people take to the streets and sing proudly “Can’t you feel a brand new day?”. Hmph, it's been nothing like that. 

In some instances, I’ve noticed that while white people are so focused on having their own conversations about race with each other (as we asked them to), they’re forgetting to listen. My DM’s which were once a home for memes, chisme, and explicit pictures from various suitors, has now become AskABlack.com. My anxiety of course, loves this. As a Black woman with many white friends, I feel compelled to answer their questions that come from a place of white guilt. I worry that if I don’t answer their questions, they will resent me and remain ignorant. I fear that if I do answer their questions, they’ll see me as the spokesperson for all Black people. This is particularly frustrating when people ask me questions or request resources that are easily googleable. At first I would reply, but after an overwhelming amount of messages asking for my opinion and asking me to let them know if they were racist or not- I drew the line. I turned my notifications off (sorry to anyone trying to send me nudes), and decided I would no longer take responsibility for the work that white people need to do for themselves. I have since made a few exceptions for those who I feel deserve this exception, and I’ve decided I have the right to choose what conversations I entertain and ones I don’t. 

I understand this may seem contradictory to me saying white people should listen to Black voices, however- I mean read research done by Black people. Read books on race written by Black people. Read public information provided by Black people. If you don’t like to read, hell, listen to an Audiobook or Podcast by a Black person. I did not mean, grab somebody Black and tell em, “aye”. You’re welcome for the Ne-Yo reference. 

Black collective trauma is real. It is not the job of the oppressed and traumatized to relive their trauma or discuss it with you so that you can learn. If we as Black people choose to share anything with you, it is a privilege, something white people should understand very well. 

I’m simply asking that before you reach out to a Black person for something about race that you can google, or read, or listen to a podcast about, that you take into account what we may be experiencing right now. Do not allow white guilt to be louder than Black voices. Especially when we’re saying we’re tired and don’t have the capacity to have conversations around race with you now that you’ve become aware of the current state of affairs.

I’d like to take this time to speak to my black readers. 

[anxiety has entered the chat]

Ha! Like you got some Black readers. You funny. Shut up, at least my Black friends will read this! They count!

Sigh... This is to the lovers and friends who told each other that Usher, John, and Luda had to do it again. Yes, you. I can’t be the only person whose anxiety is showing just how much of a savage they can be. I want to encourage you to feel proud. I hope you find it in yourself to love harder than you’ve ever loved before. I want you to celebrate the richness that is the Black experience. 

Listen to some Earth, Wind & Fire. Play that Kendrick Lamar album, and blast that Miles Davis Apple Essentials playlist. 

Reread your favorite Maya Angelou, revisit Langston Hughes. Hell if you’re up to it, tackle that Toni Morrison. 

Watch Issa Rae, get lost in Spike Lee, or dive into “Black Panther”. Avoid “When They See Us”.

Wear that afro, get that sew-in, attempt that protective style. 

Eat those collard greens, sop up the juice with that cornbread, bake a peach cobbler good enough for the family reunion. 

Have a hot girl summer! 

Love every inch of your Blackness. We deserve to experience it every day of our lives, because dammit- we deserve the love the world has not shown us.