Resting From Whiteness is Good for My Soul.

My Birthday gathering at a beautiful urban cemetery in Berlin. May, 2021

I live in a small white liberal town in New England and I regularly take retreats to larger urban cities in the Mid-Atlantic region of the U.S., where I can feel nourished by more racial diversity. In a future life, I always see myself partnered with someone who lives in or near one of these cities, and buying a home in that region. 

These urban retreats are necessary for my mental health. They keep feelings of depressive isolation at bay, and remind me that there are places where my kind of beauty is widely appreciated. These retreats are healing. 

While I love the natural beauty of my hometown, I admit that this environment doesn’t entirely nourish me, and I need to quench that thirst by visiting spaces where women like me are abundant, vivacious, admired, and plentiful. 

Whenever I talk to local white folks about desiring to visit the city, or missing New York, or seeing myself meeting someone there—they usually squint and say something along the lines of, “Yeah…I’m not really a city person.” Or, “I couldn’t see myself with a city person.”

I always find these statements to be so tone deaf.

This is not about the city. 

In fact, I love nature, and I need it just as much as you.  

It’s about where I am more readily able to:

a. Find like-minded people who also look like me. 

b. Not be “the only one” 

c. Live in a more accessible town vis a vis public transportation, walking, taxi, and bike. (I don’t own a car) 

…

Also, cities are not necessarily isolated from nature. 

Plenty of cities boast tree-lined streets, urban gardens that are tended to by neighbors and local community projects, lush parks with wildlife that you can get lost in (eg. Prospect Park, Wissahickon Park), and nearby mountains, lakes, or beaches. 

Not to mention—you can always bring nature indoors, by caring for your own plants. 

And some urban neighborhoods are just as chill and laid-back as any suburb. 

So just because you prefer to live in a city doesn’t necessarily mean you’re disconnected from nature, or that you’re a “city person”…whatever that means. 

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Regardless, most of the nice areas in the U.S. that offer an abundance of nature, alongside access to quality resources and a high standard of living—are overwhelmingly white communities. And that’s not a coincidence. 

I was born in this town, which is a rarity. 

And I feel blessed to live in the town I live in. 

But it’s a true privilege to live in a place like this and see yourself wholesomely reflected in the demographic and culture of the area. 

It’s a true privilege to have entrée to several environments like this, without having to be culturally isolated, and sacrifice connection with your own community. 

And it’s a privilege to not feel like you have to leave, just to see people who you can identify and relate with in ways that are meaningful to you. 

Being a minority is not fun, nor is it my preference.

I just make it look easy. 

Yet while I may be a minority here, I am still a woman of the global majority. 

…

The rich land of my ancestors has been ravaged by colonialism. My ancestors were displaced within their own homelands—mentally, physically, and spiritually. 

A whole generation of my family immigrated to the U.S. in search of resources that were stripped from us to build places like this. 

They left their communities to find survival, and “education” that could afford them material resources for a “better life” within a white paradigm.

Although the thought of living in my foremothers’ land seems romantic, I have visited and lived in Africa, Latin America and the Caribbean, and found myself dealing with the same unresolved trauma that the U.S. has….just in a different flavor. And those economies provide even less cushion to the blow.

So, I remain here. 

I walk in the legacy of my ancestors, because I am here, positioned in a home that kind of feels like home, but still not quite my home, mostly away from “my people” to afford a relative quality of life, options, access, safety, and resources that I need, as a black woman who loves women, as a creative, and as a freedom-seeker.

Unlike my white neighbors, I am not here simply because this place is lovely. 

I am here because this is where I am best resourced. 

This is where I am entitled to the most benefits and support.

I am here because I was placed here.

…

White folks here want to think they love black people.

They like the the idea of diversity, but they don’t really understand what it means, and they have little tolerance for it.

They enjoy blackness as a figment of their imagination.

Sometimes, it feels like I am only welcome on a superficial level.

I especially feel my own estrangement in those moments when I’m expected to participate in white liberal culture, language, customs, and politics.

You know…the stuff they brought in after they pushed everyone else out…

And I’m looked at funny when I choose not to.

Now, I am no longer just a fun idea.

They’re disappointed that my insides match my outsides.

I make them uncomfortable.

Then I remember that my family moved mountains to lay stake here 

And I try to reclaim my sense of belonging. 

I was here before them.

And I deserve to exist here, too.

.

Yes, I have to live in a majority white community to resource myself properly, for now. 

I do wish, though, that my hometown felt like somewhere I could settle down for life. Because in many regards, it is beautiful. Unfortunately, the lack of diversity makes it feel unsustainable for me in the long run.

That could change…but for now, this is how I feel. 

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So when I meet nice white folks here who are cozied up in their white bubble…

Who sympathetically pout and/or look uncomfortable while acknowledging how “white” is it here when I mention needing more diversity

(((Because they can’t relate, and it doesn’t really matter to them either way because black people are just a tint of color in their backdrop, but they pity me nonetheless)))…

Or who squint and say they are not “city people” when I mention missing Brooklyn…

It reminds me of how differently we are positioned here. 

It reminds me of how different our values are, and how far their understanding of me will go. 

And why I need spaces of rest from them.

Because no matter how much white folks out here want to hold hands in a circle and sing Kumbaya…

No matter how many progressive flags they fly, or what peaceful protest they do

We are not the same. 

And honestly I’ve made peace with that. 

All I want for myself is to live, love, and thrive. 

All I want to do is heal and be free. 

And if being their neighbor is a step in helping me do that, then so be it. 

But I must always carve out little spaces for me

To breathe, to be reflected and received in the ways I am yearning

Along the way.