I have come to the conclusion that this past year’s political and societal experience has changed me. I am no longer as idealistic as I once was. And I still haven’t figured out if that is a good thing or not. But I do know this: having to stand in the brutal brilliance of the TRUTH of what the majority of white America thinks about us, as evidenced in the election and countless other incidences of violence and repeated injustice, has forced me to be very definitive about the stance that I take as a woman, a mother of black children and as a “darker hued” citizen of this land we reside in. This past year has changed me.

I have been forced to not just “draw a line in the sand,” but to carve a groove in stone, as it pertains to some of the “absolutes” that I’ve decided are essential for me to live in peace and harmony with myself. I’ve made difficult decisions, repeatedly, to let go of friendships and beliefs and understandings that I once held dear to my heart. I have had to accept that if it were not for God in my life, I could easily become radicalized in my beliefs—yes, this past year has changed me.

I can only speak for myself when I say that I am tired of explaining. I am tired of explaining why black lives matter. I will not another time explain the ripples of horror that Philando Castile’s death caused. I don’t want to tell another soul about that moment of explaining that to my daughter. I simply cannot, another damn time, give meaning and significance to Corinne Gaines or Sandra Bland’s lives. I will not ever again shut out the image of blood spurting from Alton Sterling’s chest, seconds after his encounter with the police and why I am still traumatized by it. I am not going to explain the beauty and significance of The Wiz to another white soul. And I refuse to explain the horror and abomination of Trump becoming our next president. I am not going to do it anymore.

Why? Because they already know, they just don’t care.

See, the gloves have come off and it’s just a dirty, bare-knuckled street fight of the fittest, in one way. In another, I continue to remind myself that our “battle is not flesh and blood but principalities in high places…” but if I am very honest, some days that seems more like a lofty ideal than my actual sentiment. This past year has changed me.

Many of the crimes against our very existence may appear chaotic and random, but I would like to assert that they are neither. These attacks that we have suffered and continue to suffer are strategic and orderly with an intentional deliberation that is both methodic and creative and ensure that our deaths are long and slow; spanning generations but ever so careful to keep bodies intact and always crouched in servitude, while the souls are eviscerated. This past year has changed me.

But even standing in the brutal brilliance of my truths, I am continually re-framing my thinking. I am committing to myself, my family and my community to take the energy that is produced from the swell of my heart with each injustice and redirect it to my darker hued babies. I am committing to allow Love’s momentum to push me and pull me to TEACH them, just a little bit more today than I did yesterday, why their existence is significant. I will not allow my frenzied emotions that have been conditioned to “tilt with windmills” to lead me into arenas that are NOT where my battles lie. No, this battle requires me to learn to discern and quickly identify where the real threats and attacks lie. I MUST fortify myself and my children with the nutrients of self-love and acceptance and determination.

This past year has changed me.

Political dramas

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