My Heart is Broken…Literally and Figuratively
A Personal Statement on My New Normal
On April 25, 2020 I had a stroke. I had no idea what was happening to me at the time except that I had struggled all day with feeling sluggish and having a very high heart rate. Arriving at the hospital during COVID-19 was the scariest thing I have ever experienced. Void of family I was forced to navigate medical language, screaming patients and loud machines and MRIs. I learned that my heart condition of atrial fibrillation, that had lasted more than 12 hours that day, caused a blood clot to travel to my brain.
On June 9, 2020 I am having heart surgery to repair my broken heart and try to establish a more steady heart rate. It is one of a few surgeries that are required to literally fix my broken heart.
As I have sought a path of healing and wellness, I find myself meditating, hiking and eating better — no more Mountain Dew or Red Bull. During my walks in nature I see that I am not the only one suffering. My people and my planet are being crushed under the pressure and weight of racism, hatred and pain.
On my walks I have had to come to terms with how I got here, as a few more health issues have surfaced that will take through 2021 to correct. I realize that my illness is the culmination and combination of years of fighting for my rights and the rights of my communities. Years of not being able to afford quality health care and being treated as a second class citizen when being stared at by a white man in a white lab coat. I realize that for years my head and heart has been devoid of my body and I am now suffering the consequences of being Black in America.
My mind, body and heart have been so caught up in fighting systemic racism for years that I failed to care for myself. From watching my mom fight for my right to attend a private high school, to fighting for my kids not to be called the N word, to protecting them from racism, sexism and ignorance. It is painful and tiring. And I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.
As I prepare for my surgery to literally fix my heart, I now try to figure out how to fix my figuratively broken heart.
I had to start with what makes this moment in history different. First, the consecutive nature of racial incidences — from Central Park to Louisville and Minneapolis. Three shots that pierced our realities. Second, we are all even more vulnerable as the world faces a pandemic. Communities of color have been hardest hit physically, economically and emotionally. Third, we have a president who has recently invited counter rioters and the military to battle against Black free speech. Finally, fear continues to mount as former majority communities are afraid as people of color are the New Majority. We see that the current power base is acting out of fear, and it is unacceptable.
I then had to make time to reflect and make sure I am doing all I can do at the present moment. I need to make sure my family is taken care of. I need to make sure my kids are safe. I need to offer hope in the darkest hours for their future. I need to protect myself. As a gay women who wears men’s clothes my life is in jeopardy every day as police follow me regularly and question my identity and legality. My kids fear something will happen to me when I leave the house — daily — even before the recent protests.
I now contemplate what to do next. I know this is a new normal for me and many others. I can no longer remain isolated and work only to provide coaching and cash to entrepreneurs without a policy and legal framework. I can no longer fundraise without preparing a new narrative on why my Black community still has value as outsiders and anarchists loot our neighborhoods. I can no longer contain my anger to make others feel comfortable when I have been shown and told that my skin and life have no value.
I share with my friends, allies, haters and those that remain quiet, that you should not be afraid of Black people, but be afraid of the danger to this country when we are targeted and tormented, and any faction of its citizenry is denied that which is rightfully theirs. Remember that you cannot say you are fighting for our economic prosperity if you don’t acknowledge our painful history and take responsibility for our collective repair. The revolution will continue until we receive what is fair and rightfully ours as we built this country. I am also mindful of a friend’s words that the revolution must be funded so we as communities of color must band together our financial, human, intellectual and all other resources to be ready to invest in ourselves and our communities as no one else will.
To my Black brothers and sisters:
I see you. I hear you.
I love you. I need you.
I stand with you. I stand for you.
In closing, I offer my new favorite mantra from Wale — Sue me, l’m rootin’ for everybody that’s Black!
