Class is in Session: It’s Time to Sit in the Sh*t
***IMPORTANT Author Note: This is a different kind of blog than I have written in the past. I am evolving as a person, as a writer, and with humanity and the way that the world is. This blog is a little nerve-racking for me to put out, just for the fact that it’s pretty bold. Now, I’ve never shied away from being bold, but in a season of political and human divisiveness, it’s nerve-racking because I know there will be backlash. And yet, I am still here and going to put it out into the world because I believe we don’t grow and gain perspective if we don’t have conversations. If we don’t put hard things on the table, have a platform to discuss them, and have the ability to look at our past and learn from our mistakes, then we are failing as a human race. Thanks for being here and for holding space for these words. I stand ready to hold space for you and yours in return.
*Trigger Warning: Slavery, Murder, Physical Violence, Racism, Sexism, Rape, Human Rights.
Not only am I a writer, but I also hold dual degrees in education. I’m a sucker for a good, teachable moment, so let’s dive into a lesson in history to start our week. Get your pencil and paper out, and put those thinking caps on!
Frederick Douglass was born into slavery as Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey in Talbot County, Maryland. He was not sure of his birthdate, but he knew it was sometime in 1817 or 1818. His mother, Harriet Bailey, was a slave, which automatically ushered him into a horrific life of slavery. His father was a white man, and he often heard whispers that his master was his father. He was separated from his mother in infancy, only seeing her a few times throughout his life, which always occurred in the darkness of night. Frederick narrowly escaped death due to inhumane and ravenous beatings he endured on a regular basis, witnessed the murder of fellow slaves, was forbidden to learn how to read and write, and by the grace of God, became the only slave to escape the plantation he grew up on.
I want you to sit with this for a second.
Keep sitting.
Is it easy or hard to sit with? Is the silence bothering you? Feeling a little awkward?
Good. Let’s keep moving.
Reading Comprehension Check: just in case you didn’t quite grasp the themes in the paragraph above.
This man was born into slavery. He was considered someone’s property, along with farm animals. Can you imagine being treated as property? Can you fathom what it meant to live a life in slavery and all of the horrific things human beings endured? If you aren’t really clear on how slavery worked and the impact it had on our black brothers and sisters and the nation as a whole, I am asking you to do your research, ask the tough questions, and learn more. Here, I will help get you started.
He did not know his birthdate. As you sit today and celebrate the day of your birth with an all-inclusive trip to Mexico with all of your closest friends, or simply enjoy the homemade cake your mom made you, blowing out your candles and making a wish, can you imagine not knowing the date or year you were born? How would you ever know when to celebrate? Would you even want to celebrate? How would you feel if that part of your identity could never be attained?
He did not know who his father was. Can you imagine never knowing your father’s identity, only clinging on to the assumption it was your “master” who, statistically speaking for that time period, likely raped or used your mother as sexual property, thus resulting in your birth? How would you even begin to wrap your head around those facts? How do you think he felt about not having a father or positive male influence in his life?
He was separated from his mother in infancy and only saw her a few times throughout his entire life. Can you fathom what this must have felt like for Frederick? How would you feel if you were taken from your mother as a baby and only saw her a few times throughout your entire life, knowing she deeply loved and cared for you, but you had no rights, even to care for your own child?
He narrowly escaped death and was regularly beaten. He experienced unrelenting physical, mental, and emotional abuse. He mentioned that his spirit was broken on numerous occasions due to these inhumane beatings. How would it feel to be beaten with a whip because you looked at someone the wrong way, disagreed with your “master,” or didn’t follow orders accordingly?
He witnessed the murder of human beings. If you know anything about trauma, you know the effects of witnessing such horror are far-reaching, and they never leave you. Have you considered what that would do to someone’s heart and head, watching someone die such a horrible death? How would you feel if you watched human beings be murdered, not just once, but time and time again?
It was unlawful for him to learn how to read or write. The gift of education was not allowed to him because of the color of his skin. Can you imagine wanting to learn but being told you are forbidden because you were born as a black human being? Side lesson (in case you didn’t know): slave owners knew if the slaves in their “custody” learned how to read and write, they would become enlightened and understand what was happening to them was cruelty and injustice in the flesh. Enslavers feared that if their slaves became smart, they would try to escape or even seek to overturn the law. (Gross.)
Phew! That was a lot to unpack in one lesson.
Let’s check in: How are you feeling about what we’ve read? Are you feeling uncomfortable? If you said yes, then you understood the assignment, and guess what? I’m happy to report that you, my friend, have a HEART!
You should feel uncomfortable reading these words.
I hope that as they sear into your eyeballs and slither through your veins, they cause you to squint your eyes, clutch your chest, and ferociously shake your head about the reality this human being and so many others endured in our world.
History is uncomfortable for a reason. It’s uncomfortable because taking a magnifying glass to the awful things that happened in our past are painful. It’s uncomfortable because it’s unfathomable. And it’s uncomfortable because it’s inhumane and fundamentally wrong on so many levels. But the reality is that facts are facts.
Wishing away history doesn’t erase the reality of our past. When we hold space for the hurtful parts of our nation’s story, no matter how difficult it feels to witness, it gives us the opportunity to learn and make better choices. To learn from our mistakes.
Now, it’s time for a pop quiz! There’s only one question, but it’s an important one.
Question #1: How should you handle making a mistake? Here are your multiple-choice options: (there is only one correct answer)
A: Keep making the same mistake over and over again, and not care how my actions affect others.
B: Pretend like the mistake never happened and deny it if anyone asks.
C: Take ownership of the mistake, learn from it, and actively make a concerted effort to do better in the future.
D: Blame someone else for the mistake because I obviously did nothing wrong; I’m perfect.
Oooh, this is a tough one! (Insert Jeopardy theme song here) Time to lock in your answers.
Those of you who chose option C are correct!
For those of you who chose options A, B, or D, you are incorrect.Please do more research and ask yourself the tough questions to gain some vital perspectives to become a better person for yourself and others.(Now, we’re all human, and we all mess up, but that’s not the main point in this specific lesson, so we’re moving on)
More Learning
I just finished reading Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass. The book was published in 1845 and was written by Frederick himself. They are his stories. Facts about his life. His truth. The injustices he endured. If I’m being honest, it was excruciating to read. Many of the things he wrote about made me sick to my stomach. The tragedies he witnessed with his own two eyes and human heart caused me to hide under the blankets and wish it hadn’t happened. I wanted to shut the world out and pretend it wasn’t real.
It made me uncomfortable.
Now, I’m a middle-aged white woman from the Midwest. On paper, I don’t have a whole lot in common with Frederick, but his story jolted me. I made a conscious effort to read his book because I knew it would make me feel uncomfortable. I knew it would cause a visceral response. As his words danced around on each page and cut through my heart with grief, they began taking up a permanent residence in my soul. I openly held space for him. I opened my head and heart to his experiences. I felt empathy for all that he went through on the very soil we live upon. His story matters to me for so many reasons, but quite simply because he’s a human being who deserved better. And we have that human thing in common.
It shouldn’t have to happen to you for it to matter to you. Injustice should matter to you. Humanity should matter to you. Civil, equal, and human rights should matter to you. It should matter to all of us.
Now, I get it. All humans become complacent, myself included. Most of the time, it’s not even on purpose. We get busy with kids, family, jobs, and life. We forget our past. We take our freedom and opportunities for granted. We get so stuck in our own world that we forget it’s not just about us. Now, I don’t know about you, but there are an array of jolts that have forced me out of complacency over the years. The death of someone I love, hearing about a tragic situation, a simple look in the mirror, hearing a story I connect with, a natural disaster, a cancer diagnosis of a friend, etc. The list could go on and on. And here’s why the jolts are so vital: they serve as reminders that I need to wake up, look around, and realize what I’ve overlooked while living in a complacent state.
Reading Frederick’s book gave me a jolt. And if you needed a jolt, too, then here it is.
Almost two weeks after the election outcome, it doesn’t feel any less heavy for so many of us. I don’t have a renewed sense of hope. I am not attempting to tie this one up with a bow, step aside, and say, “Well, it’s time to move on.” And I am not alone in how I feel. I’ve had dozens of conversations with people from all walks of life and beliefs, asking questions and thoughtfully debating different ideas and perspectives about the state of our country. I’ve also experienced a massive jump in the number of DMs I’ve received in response to posts on my tiny social media following. Others share my feelings of uncomfortableness.
I’m uncomfortable on a plethora of levels, and not only for myself. I’m uncomfortable with women walking alone during broad daylight. I’m uncomfortable with the despicable and disgusting things my kid’s classmates are saying to them and others. I’m uncomfortable on behalf of my brothers and sisters who are part of a marginalized community and are afraid for their lives. I’m uncomfortable with the fact that racism, sexism, and spewing hatred for human beings are somehow now acceptable. And not just in some faraway place…I’m seeing it right here in my own community. I’m uncomfortable with the state of our country and what it truly means to be free.
If you are not uncomfortable right now, then you are part of the problem.
When something is unlawful, disgraceful, horrific, or inhumane, and you don’t have a visceral reaction, then we are not the same. And if you think I’m crazy, these ideas are farfetched, or that I’m just another overly emotional woman on my period, go pick up a book and educate yourself. If you need a list, I’ll email you some options.
Refusing to acknowledge any of this means we fail as humans. We fail at the democracy our country was built upon. We fail at the facade of the American Dream. And right now, we’re in trouble. We should have learned from our past mistakes. And yet, here we are, in 2024, in limbo between losing equal and fundamental human rights and a new president who aspires to be a dictator.
When we know better, we do better. History is currently repeating itself. Listen up…it’s time to sit in the uncomfortable. It’s time to sit in the shit.
**Author Note: Thank you for reading or listening. I know my words carry a lot of weight. I know they feel heavy. I also know that I’ve made a lot of bold statements here, but I feel so strongly for humanity right now. I know not everyone is going to agree with me, but if you are in this space with me, I want you to know that you’re not alone. I share your frustration. I share in your anger and the visceral response that is lighting a path to help make change. I’m not sure exactly what that looks like yet, but I do think having these conversations and being able to sit at the table with others who are willing to share that table is a good place to start.
