I remember a time in my life where my dad would get really hostile as white people were actively supporting and speaking on correcting the still existing racism in our country and the presence of white privilege.
I spent a long time confused. I was so puzzled that some one would still be so blind to their leg up even when it was so clearly explained to them. Right now, in the middle of the night as I’m writing this, I can acknowledge that my dad likely shared some wounds that made it hard for him to see just how that gap was so large.
Really? It’s probably still true. I don’t feel like I have to tiptoe around his pain anymore, though.. or carry the weight of his own battle with race.
I know we are different. But I also know we are so much more the same than we are acknowledging. Is it really to much to ask to take our similarities and build a bridge, then weave our differences (a)cross for a worthy celebration?
(2026#unhinged)
WE DON’T CALL IT SLAVERY
We don’t call it slavery,
Because we’re white.
But my daddy was taken from his family, traded into another for male hands to work the land.
His mama impregnated at 15 and her baby ripped away no matter how badly she wanted him.
We don’t say my daddy was absent because he slept under the same roof as us every night but I hear that there are daddies out there that don’t unhook their belts, instilling fright and I’m desperately hanging on to the hope that one of them is mine..
So I dont think of that man in that house as my daddy any more.
Just some guy, that set the expectation for how men would treat me for the rest of my life but it was a lie that my mother was accepting as the truth of her time.
I still work through the terrors at night. Still have a man trying to abduct a child that he put in a child before she could drive only it’s me this time and I’m ready to fight.
I watched my baby swept up through a miscarriage then flown off in to the night, so I know this is not just a worldly wound but a spiritual plight.
I don’t claim we are the same or that I know what you’ve been through
But honest to God, every single one of us is laced up with stories about times we felt we weren’t enough.
Printed by the hands that kept grabbing pieces from us. I swear to you, you can work out those depressions with love.
See… my daddy wasn’t absent but.. he was never really there for us.
Not out of a lack of trying but out of lack of believing that he was enough.
But isn’t that how it always goes?
Aren’t we just trying to compensate for our still bleeding wounds but with only two hands – one cant hold themselves shut and still reach out to you.
So, I dropped out of nursing school, realizing as baby, I learned the art of dressing wounds.
I was taught to cover up my own pain and then how to work that magic to make everyone else feel better again.
Only now I’ve realized that kindness was never hiding the truth, rather thats depriving others of the clarity needed to make their own moves.
So I’m speaking more.
Making use of the voice I was given to share the story I’ve been living because if there is one thing I know is absolutely true –
We would all feel less divided if we transparently shared and without judgment listened to each other’s truths without trying to clean up the story for a softer view.
I am willing to face it all.
Are you?
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 