Why This Month Gives Me Anxiety

If you’d like to listen to this blog post, press play.

Right now, all of social media on my side feels like a megaphone screeching at deaf ears and that reminds me of all the arguments I had with a toxic ex.

I see all the posts of the dark sides of y’alls history. All the posts of “the liberation”. All the posts about y’alls microaggressions. Another post of ‘more diversity’ packaged in a carefully curated subscription that I get the pleasure of having for a 28-day trial.

Because content on Instagram only repackages the messages that are relevant to you.

Black history month sort of stresses me out.

This constant scratching at the skull that goes something like: they don’t really care about the work. They just want the “feel good about myself” badge.

It’s like I’m proud but the segmentation is weird. I love myself but why am I teaching that to you? It’s like a bunch of historical trauma that got scooped out and balled up in a collective social ritual that says: “Let’s give ’em a month to show the blacks how much: ‘we ain’t that.’”

Black Americans’ relationship with white supremacy is very akin to a toxic one.

It’s like you have all the texts, the voicemails, the things they said and what time they sent ’em. And they dismantle your logic. They still live in peace. They don’t quite care about the loud, disruptive chaos inside you because there is calmer and more persistent one inside themselves.

I saw a video of a woman standing in her kitchen asking: “Do y’all ask your grandparents if they were throwing rocks during the integration of schools? Do y’all ask your parents if they attended lynchings? Cause our grandparents talk about it happening to them but who was the ones who was doing it?”

There’s nothing wrong with internet catharsis, hell, I’m doing it. But there’s a part of me that winces knowing that the needle won’t really move. A white person may not really ever do the work.

I think that’s why it gives me so much grief. That there is a subtle drum for change but which ex, in past life have you stayed for the last 300 years?

Jasmine. Turn off social media, why don’t you?

Express your black girl joy on the internets!

Share what you want, don’t listen to what they have to say.

I know I reserve the right to not make this month about all the struggle.

Because it has evolved into a different, more modern one.

All I want to talk about is the healing, the joy, the freedom. I want to display that type of focus but somehow feel like someone reading this will bypass that statement thinking they can exit out, just like I wish I could.

It’s like the more I show I’m happy, the more white people think the work is done. The more I show my joy, the more they never have to learn about the pain.

It’s all pretty nihilistic. I’ll show my joy, my happiness, and my pride. That’s all fine and within my right. Don’t be sad for me, I got this joy collection on tight.

But really tho, can y’all actually do the hard stuff, this time?

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