Rage

"I will not have my life narrowed down. I will not bow down to somebody's else's whim or to someone else's ignorance" bell hooks

Yesterday, I was reminded what rage looks and feels like. Especially when that rage is focused on you. When it is focused on me. It reminds me that I am still considered less than despite how I walk through this life. No matter how much I have accomplished and no matter how much education I have attained. And let me tell you, it is exhausting to remain composed in the face of unadulterated and unprovoked rage. Especially when it is completely illogical or even worse unhinged. 

So I was asked to check on my car, because it may have been hit. How kind, was my initial thought. I went outside. I checked and it was okay. Then the adjacent anger spewed out. That is when I realized that I was not asked to come outside because of kind generous concern. I was asked to come out so that I could be verbally attacked. And no, neither of them looked like me, we did not share the same hue. Does it matter? Yes, Yes, and Yes for the cheap seats in the back, it does. Because while I was standing there attempting to be logical, measured, or seek evidence to support the rage, all I found was a whole lot of nothing. But, afterwards my body felt horrible. I quickly turned to jokes and laughter because that is my protection and emotional safety net. It was not until I drove home, did my entire physical and spiritual self feel the aftermath of the attack. The curse words and names being lobbed at me like baseballs. Death by a thousand cuts. Each curse and rageful word that came out of their mouths (yes there were two of them) not only hit a nerve, it hit a memory. A memory of being called out of my name. A memory of being disrespected or even worse silenced because of my hue and gender. Because there is no way that I know more than them. There is no way I am more qualified. There is no way that I deserve to live…at all. Afterwards, because I was not at home, I was expected to just keep going like nothing happened. Yeah, no. So I do what I need to do to process…I write. 

This is a reminder to me and whomever needs to hear this. To all of the Black and Brown women who need to hear this (specifically). You never need to apologize for defending yourself with silence (because you are in shock) or with words (you meet that rage with eloquent rage) when you are faced with rage. You never need to apologize for feeling fear and not safe in the moment and in the moments after. No need to feel weak because you choose to never return to the scene of the rage (not parking there EVER again). You do not need to always show up in perfect composure because that is what “we were taught to do.” Because the individual or individuals who are sharing their rage, feel no apology and no regret. They will walk away after hitting you with fresh baseballs that leave marks, and have dinner with a beer, and a good night's sleep. So no, you do not need to feel the need to be sorry or embarrassed. But you can acknowledge the rage and the bruises that it left. You can acknowledge that you are exhausted. You can acknowledge that it brought up memories and authentic feelings. You can acknowledge that you are absolutely sick of this shit, especially when it is uncalled for. You can live in your truth and I will live in mine. Racism and Rage exist in the same circle of understanding. Breathe. Rest. Recover. Pray. Repeat. It is often asked that we should pray for those who just simply do not know better. That is a choice…that I will not be making today. Not as long as rage is the warm blanket they sleep under. I am going to spend all my prayers on me and mine. Thank you and stay vigilant.