racism gave me an anxiety attack (and a brief message to new “allies”)

The past couple of weeks have been one of the toughest stretches of time for me, mentally and physically, in recent memory.

I was already dealing with the added pressure that this pandemic has caused at my job, as layoffs, pay cuts, and extended hours have resulted in 3 months of near-endless stress.

But the past month featured such blatant acts racism and brutality that, when coupled with the headache-inducing stress from my job, finally broke me.

I had never had anxiety attacks before. But it didn’t take long, after hours of perspiration and irregular heartbeats, to understand what was happening.

I had to cut my work hours short. For my own sake.

I deleted social media apps off my phone.

I muted my group chats.

Friends asked me how I was doing, and I told them I was not coping well at all.

I was informed that the events in Minnesota had awaken many people to the realities of racism in America. Sudden waves of solidarity, supposedly. I was pleasantly surprised to hear that. But then I remembered Alton Sterling and Philando Castille, and the conversations that took place following their deaths. I remembered Colin Kaepernick, and the conversations that took place following his protest.

There was very little solidarity then. Only purposeful misunderstanding.

And so while I was certainly not unhappy about having new “allies,” I could not applaud non-Black people for “finally waking up.” They couldn’t just believe Black people off rip. One of us had to die, again, and another person had to film it, again.

I only felt anger. And sadness. And physical stress, because my body was reacting very, very poorly.

Ironically, however, I began to feel better once I began to creep out of isolation. I did eventually reach out to people, especially other Black friends, to see how they and their families were coping with these recent tragedies. The conversations were not always lengthy, but they were filled with love and encouragement, which was something I desperately needed. I also ended up pouring myself into my work the last couple days of the week, working for 12 hours on Thursday which ended up being an oddly cathartic experience. I had a few hours of reprieve from grief.

I signed petitions and donated money. I read books I previously bought and compiled reading lists. I watched my favorite TV shows, including an excellent episode of Insecure. I laughed at funny videos on YouTube. I got more sleep.

It’s been, rough, but I’m doing better. I genuinely hope that you are doing well too. I hope that you find even a nanosecond of peace and happiness in the midst of all this grief. This year has been ruthless. Please take care of yourself.

And to those who are newly committed to standing with #BlackLivesMatter during this time, I suppose it’s better late than never (although, as Drake once said, “never late is better”). I hope you will use this time to not only read up and educate yourself on the various realities that Black people worldwide have been preaching for *centuries*, but to also contemplate what your “allyship” entails. Because posting on social media isn’t enough. If you are not ready to be honest with yourself about capitalism and American history, work hand-in-hand with Black/indigenous/people of color to dismantle systems of oppression and inequity, and decolonize your very reality…then you have a long way to go.

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Featured image by Tsoku Maela