Honoring Black and Women’s History: A Comment on My White Privilege

Mar 14

Written by Renee Brush, Ph.D.

I started this post on the last day of Black History Month. I had started thinking of writing this post about halfway into the month of February as I had been sharing stories from Black content creators on my Instagram page. This is going to be a raw look into my thoughts and my own history that have been developing over the past month as I honored Black History Month and this month as I have started honoring women, with a focus on women of color.

My experiences with race growing up

I grew up in the Midwest, in Michigan, in the middle of the “Mitten” - and, if you aren’t good with U.S. geography, look at the map of Michigan, you will see what I mean. Where I lived, it was mostly white families, even though I didn’t live too far from Flint (now well known for their contaminated drinking water) or Detroit, both places that had a larger mix of ethnicities among their residents. By the time we were in high school, we had a couple of Black families that had moved into town. Unfortunately, since I was more introverted, I did not get to know these kids in school.

My exposure to other ethnicities grew more when I went to college, but I was still in the middle of Michigan. My world opened up in a big way after college when I moved to Virginia to be with my boyfriend at the time - who later became my husband.

One of the good things about my mom that I really appreciate is her acceptance of all people. I mean she could be really catty about individuals (mainly women, now that I think about it) when she saw someone dressed in some type of way when we were out and about. But, she never had anything bad to say about groups of people. So racism or prejudice were not modeled for me by my parents. And I am grateful for that. I realize this doesn’t mean I am completely free of bias. There is still work to do. But I also didn’t have to unlearn some things in the process.

Life in the South

Both of my husbands had quite a bit of prejudice. My first husband was not quiet about it. He used to say, very proudly, “It’s good to be a white male between the ages of 25 and 50,” so he had a very clear understanding of all areas where he held privilege, including his race, gender, and age. My second husband claimed to not be prejudice, but his jokes spoke louder than his words. It was uncomfortable to be around people who disliked whole groups of people just because of some trait like the color of the skin or the people they were attracted to.

When I moved to Virginia, not only did I gain access to a broader range of cultures, even the white people here were different to some degree. I did not expect that things would be so different just by moving south of the Mason Dixon line. And I was a good student, although to be fair, I did not like history class. But, I had a lot to learn, although I did not realize how MUCH I had to learn.

I also think what few people realize is that our childhood determines how we think about the world and our experiences are our “normal” without realizing that other people have different experiences.

My first two jobs in Virginia were as mental health technicians, first at an acute care hospital and then a residential center for children and adolescents. These were the first jobs where I worked with people from a variety of races. As I look back, the only thing I can think is that I was undiagnosed ADHD so I hope I was well-behaved and did not say things that were hurtful. I remember making friends at the second place, where one coworker had even told me about an in-home party (like tupperware, but not tupperware) they were having. I was excited, thinking I was going to be invited to hang out with them at their house. I was not, though. They had only told me about the party because they wanted me to make a purchase, but I did not get invited to the actual party. I was hurt and confused, at the time, not understanding.

Shortly after that, I entered graduate school and worked through to earn my doctorate in Developmental psychology. Then I spent two years working on a research fellowship in Atlanta. That is also where I had my daughter. I remember one day, we were at the grocery store. She had to have been about six months. We kept passing this black woman and her own six-month old who was wearing a baby Gap hat much like one my daughter had. Every time we passed by each other, the two babies would babble at each other. It was so cute and, each time, I would smile at her baby. But, I never said anything because, as a traumatized introvert, I didn’t talk to anyone.

Later, I was in the checkout line, putting my items on the rolling thing and this same woman came up behind me and started unloading her cart at the same time as me, essentially taking up all of my space. I was confused, but still not saying anything. The checkout lady eventually stopped the rolling thing and the lady behind me started yelling at me - accusing me of thinking her baby was dirt. Accusing me of thinking that I was better than them. I had thought no such thing and I tried to explain this to her, but she was, of course, in no place to listen. Looking back, I wish I would have said something in the moment when our babies were babbling at each other. But it was too late. The damage had been done.

In that moment, my empathy was a gift. A gift that helped me understand that this woman was reacting from a place of hurt and trauma. I did feel personally attacked, but I was also mortified that my actions had caused her to feel all of this pain. Or that my INaction had triggered some painful memories in her past. Memories of being treated less than. No one deserves to be treated less than. And, even though it was not my intention at all, she interpreted my actions as treating her less than. I cannot change what happened that day, but I can use it to make sure that, should a similar situation arise again, I can take a moment to comment on how cute someone’s baby is - or make some comment that would allow me to connect with someone. Because connection is the antidote to what happened that day.

Multicultural Competency

In my clinical psychology graduate program, we took a couple different courses on multicultural competency, which included race and sexual identity and orientation. This continues to be something that I am learning - as it should be. Being a “Yankee” living in the South has its repercussions, mainly because I don’t know what I don’t know. I am blessed that I have clients and colleagues who are willing to discuss these issues with me.

One day, I was doing an intake with a new Black client and she was telling me her story. As with most of my clients, she had had some difficulties in her life. As she was describing one particularly difficult time, I was empathizing with her experience and said to her, “Bless your heart,” in my mind thinking about how difficult her situation must have been. And that is honestly what I meant - “that must have been so tough.” We finished the session, but at the end, she stopped and said, “I need to say something.”

She then said, “I don’t get the feeling you meant it this way, but, in the South, when someone says ‘bless your heart,’ it’s an insult.” And she graciously gave me the history on it. I listened to her and I believed her. And I was mortified by the message she thought she was getting from me. I apologized profusely for my words. I did not know the history of that phrase being from Michigan - and I explained that to her. I also thanked her for talking it through with me. She gave me the benefit of the doubt even when she did not have to. She could have left that day and never returned.

She could have been that woman at the grocery store in Atlanta. But, I was able to apologize and then change my behavior. For a person with ADHD who needs multiple failures to learn a lesson, I only needed that one day. I was so appalled at the message that I was giving to this woman - even unintentionally - that I couldn’t do it any other way. I don’t understand how people can’t learn how hurtful some statements are for some people and just automatically not use those statements. It is not difficult. If I - a person with ADHD - can do it, anyone can do it.

Not saying an improper thing seems fairly easy compared to keeping my privilege in check, if I’m going to be honest. I think that is the hardest thing in working with my clients. I am blessed that they share the realities of what it is like to live in this country. I know systemic racism and inequity exists because I listen to my clients and I believe them.

I listen to their anger. Their fear. Their hopelessness. And I feel it all with them.

But mostly I just feel hopeless or powerless. I can hold space for them, but that is about it. Trying to help them problem solve a real life situation is often where I start to see where my privilege gets in the way - because I might have the ability to do something if I had the same problem that they cannot do. And we talk about this. Sometimes, really all they need is for me to hold space while I may be trying to fix things, which isn’t really helpful either. So, I end up holding space.

Learning to Use My Voice

Another thing I can say about the way my mother brought me up is that I do not see myself as more special than anyone else regardless of skin color or orientation. But, because I also was raised to not like any confrontation, any political or social justice issue typically caused me to shut down. I was taught to be the “good girl,” just follow along and you will be fine. And that is what I have done - kept my head down, don’t be seen, don’t make waves.

George Floyd was the start of the turning point for me. I supported the riots. I even supported my daughter attending the riots. But, I felt paralyzed and powerless. What would my family say? I was caught between the childhood programming (“Be the good girl!”) and doing the right thing. So I did nothing. And I felt such shame for not doing more. In my head, I kept hearing, “You’re not doing enough, Renee. You’re not good enough.”

I realize now that it is my own privilege that allows my healing to be separate from the riots, from the social justice. For so many people, their trauma and the riots are intertwined.

I’m walking the line here between recognizing that I did not do enough to support Black Lives Matter even as I was rooting for them and not beating myself up for it. That’s the healing work.

Actually, as I’m reflecting… that was the year my sister and I took a road trip to a family reunion. We were talking about Floyd and the riots and she made some comment like, “Well, why haven’t they said anything sooner?” As a person who was brainwashed to not like confrontation, I got into a loud fight with my sister in a restaurant where I explained to her how African Americans have been fighting this fight for decades - centuries even - but their voices have been silenced in so many ways.

I’m not sharing this for any recognition. It’s more of a reminder to myself that, even when I think I’m not standing up, I have stood up. And, if I can stand up against family, I can stand up against anyone.

When I started my blog last September, I also have been posting on Instagram. I have kept my posts mainly to the topics I discuss here on these posts. But oppression for any reason - race, sex, gender, age, religion, etc. - IS trauma. So, I can’t ignore it. I need to highlight it and help others be aware. And that is what I am going to do.

So, when it was Black History Month, I decided to use my page to share posts from black content creators. I don’t have many followers, but I could still use my platform to amplify their voices. And that is what I have done. I have been sharing their posts to my stories. And I started following more black creators, especially those who are anti-racism educators.

One of the first things I have noticed is that I feel a bit like an imposter sharing their stories. But I’m going to chalk that up to just starting out. This is new and sometimes new things are uncomfortable. But I believe it is important, so I’m going to keep doing it.

The other thing I’ve learned is that I’m actually ready for some anti-racism work. I took my first workshop earlier this month and I was very anxious. And, historically, being anxious before I do something was enough for me to not do it, but I’m leaning into the discomfort this time. I’m not letting the old programming paralyze me and I no longer care what others think.

As the classic “good girl,” I never learned to rebel. But, because of my skin color and education level, I have the privilege - that is, the ability - of being able to use my voice to help others out. So now, I’m going to learn how to be a rebel and speak up for those who do not have a voice. And like the Black women and men from whom I am learning, I can be of service to lift others around me up, not just those who look like me.