Unlearning hurts

 In a random and private conversation, my former students and I, yet again, grapple with the effects of our education. We weigh what it costs us. I have this exchange after driving an hour to see my primary care, after waiting in a room full of disabled veterans. 153 lbs doesn't take up enough space. The only person to see me is another woman. The eye contact is brief. I sink into my peacoat and hide in my headphones. I'm acutely aware of being outnumbered. My anxiety is higher than it was the whole 45 min drive down. My mind wants to leave. My body is already in a battle to heal from a car accident. The muscles and joints on my right side refuse to move. Walking hurts. Driving hurts. My knees need warmth. My shoulders get cold. All I can do is wait. It would seem that 5.5 years in the Coast Guard would prepare me. This isn't a new space, but it is. I was young. I believed that rank and education erased racism. I believed I was a likeable human being, despite my conditional experiences. None of these partially mobile, old white men wanted to see me, let alone sit in a room with me. Getting help costs me my blood pressure. Slow death ain't a price I want to pay.

I often wonder if the lies are worth it? If elite education only teaches us, Black women, to hate ourselves even more than before? If walking away from our culture makes us less Black? If the whole mantle of progress should rest on somebody else's shoulders? I never wanted to be white. I wanted to be. I needed to be loved, accepted, nurtured, and cared for. Education doesn't do that. These things come from the community. What happens when you spend so much time in another community that you are afraid of your own? Who are you when you can only identify with actors and not real people? Tuition doesn't justify how we signify nothing. We've had to study while being studied only to teach others how to do the same. Did I do myself and my students a disservice? Why do I need to teach anyone how to hate themselves? I don't even know what I'm built for anymore.

I've been questioning who I am, as a light-skinned Black woman, since I can remember. My likeability was definitely related to my lack of melanin. My acceptance was predicated on my proximity to whiteness. All I ever wanted was to be around Black women who understood me and Black men who supported me. I started a sorority with that in mind. It wasn't enough. I attended all kinds of Black centered functions. I show up alone. My safety is tenuous. It's tethered to a situation. Without safety, I can't get free. Will I ever be safe enough to say I'm in so much pain I can't cry? Will I be vulnerable enough to let the  failing system support me? Time and again, I've relied on the system. I've jumped through hoops to make it work for me. I'm tired.

I'm unlearning. I'm peeling back the layers and admitting fears I was taught to swallow. Survival is a generational curse. I still live on the edge of poverty, a lil better than I grew up. I live some 4 hours away. Time and space teach you the same lessons, no matter where you go, huh?