Intro
Today, I woke up in a screaming rage from a stressful attempt at sleep. The night before, I recorded myself telling a painful story from my past. I was overwhelmed by the emotional effort this was for me. I've recently come to understand that rage is my response to deep intrinsic dread connected to my inherent value - or maybe more accurately - the fear that, as a black man, I don't have intrinsic value. As I fought for focus and sobriety, I decided to face this fear head-on and unpack the dread. I asked myself, "Shawn, what am I afraid of?" I am afraid of being a NIGGER. My trauma bond with the N-word and how it has been used to define black men eats explicitly away at my identity and self-worth. I realize that much of my pain and trials are connected to how the world treats someone who looks like me and comes from where I come from. A NIGGER. I, like many other black men, tried to succeed my way out of being a NIGGER. It is a desperate attempt to prove to myself and to the world that I am better than the title forced upon me. However, this strategy does not work in the long term because no matter how successful I am, I can not control what others think and say about me. This leads me to the question only a black therapist can honestly ask, "How will I find acceptance in a world that calls me nigger with the hard R?"
The First Time I WAS CALLED NIGGER
Yes, in 2024, we are still being called niggers to our faces, and it's not just in the South.
My father was old school and survived many things in his time. Born in 1929, he joined the Great Migration, coming north as a teenager for better work opportunities. When I was around 5, my dad called me into his room one day to watch the Indy 500. I didn't know him to watch racing often, but it was on, and he wanted to teach me a lesson. He asked me to look at the cars in the back, "Do you think they have a good chance of winning?" I said, "No, there in the back." Then my father told me those cars in the back are you. We black people……son, you know you black, right? He paused to check if I was understanding him. He continued by saying that we black people are in the cars in the back when it comes to the race of life. Then he told me, you know what white people call those cars in the back? I didn't know. My dad then looked down at me and said the ugliest word ever. I could hear the derision in his voice as he said the word nigger. He said that's what they are going to call you. That's how they are going to treat you, son. Like a nigger! I cried.
I didn't fully understand the word or the history at that point in my life. I didn't yet know very much about Jim Crow, sharecropping, or even slavery. However, I could feel the transfer of pain and struggle in his voice. I could feel the hope denied and the burden of being seen as less than human. My father, as many fathers do with their sons, tried to prepare me for the world that is not the world he wished for me to have. As he dried my tears, he explained that just because they call you a nigger doesn't mean you can't win. It does mean it will be harder for you, and they will try to stop you. Getting down on my level, he said you can win if you drive faster and more strategically than everyone else. And so I resolved to be the best and the fastest in life.
Chicago
Another painful memory of being called nigger happened while visiting Chicago. We were visiting my friend's sister, who was an elite surgeon. Sitting outside on the steps of her house with three or four other black men aged 19 to 22, we started to dance. We were all dancers, so this was pretty common for us. From across the street, an old woman with a walker started moving toward us. She was incredibly slow-moving. She inched towards us. Then with the ugliest look on her face coughed out the word NIGGERS. With all her remaining strength, she said to us, "You all are a bunch of niggers! Get out of here! Go home." I was upset, and I was about to get into an argument with this woman when my friend grabbed me, covered my mouth, and pulled me inside. He said to me, "Be calm. She is going to die before we do, and then God is going to handle it." I had to let it go. But why, at that moment, did it feel like she got away with it?
Grad School
In 2019, in grad school, I was called a nigger twice to my face during a race and community building class. Yes, I was called a nigger publicly in a liberal space. Sidebar, I spent 3 years in Jackson, Mississippi, in a Christian (Republican) private college, and not once was I called a nigger. Within the first week at a liberal arts school, in a room full of liberals, I was called a nigger by a white man. No one did anything. In class, we read the book "Backlash," which upset my white colleagues. In a class discussion, we went around and shared what our biggest fear was for school. The professor encouraged us to be open and vulnerable, so I did. I said I feared being seen as a monster (black men are often seen as monsters) and that I would be seen as a nigger. Then my colleague said to me in front of everyone, "Don't act like a nigger, and we won't treat you like a nigger." This hurts because of the reminder of who has power in this space and how little, if any, recourse I had. It was a warning to stay in my place and to be whatever they wanted me to be. Being called a nigger is not just an insult but an attack on your character. I didn't belong here.
What therapy is/feels like
In therapy, I've learned how to change and protect my inner perspective by monitoring my inner voice and questioning the stories I believe about myself. Media, teachers, colleagues, and society influence how you see the world and yourself in it. As black men, we have been fed a continuous stream of opposing opinions and false truths about who we are and who we should be. The internal conflict often sparks anxiety or depression.
Therapy teaches me to accept what is – I hate this because it feels like giving in and giving up. As I write more blogs, I realize my thoughts jump around, but that's the nature of healing. The pain and feelings in your childhood affect your romantic relationship. Your work experience can affect your family and so on. So now I will tell you a story about EZpass. I promise they somewhat connect. Plus, this was fresh in my head as I dealt with both. Ezpass… is shitty, just shitty. They manage to call me continuously at the worst times. I lost my mind. The rage Ezpass invokes in me is crazy: Therapy would tell me to accept and find peace with them, winning and never being better. Shawn, you must accept that Ezpass is difficult, and it will always be a harrowing experience. Like the way the sky is blue. They didn't win, they are just shitty! I must accept that and find a way to live a happy life. All I can do is try to create strategies for the future. It sucks, and I hate it. This is the work. EZpass is my mental health practice for dealing with racism. Racists are shitty, and they will continue to be shitty.
Racism is the toll you pay to navigate life. And yes, they will mess up your bill and overcharge you, and you will feel like this is a scam that you must participate in despite not wanting to. Racism will cost you extra money when it is not entirely (or not at all) your fault. Like racism, some people who have not had the pleasure of dealing with EZpass won't understand. They could learn about both racism and EZpass with a simple Google search. I am not saying EZpass is as bad as racism, but the correlation is there. In therapy, how do I not let either ruin my life, perspective, or day.
Acceptance
What have I learned about acceptance in a world that calls me Nigger with the hard R? Acceptance is not about giving up. Still, it is about not allowing this world's difficult and painful things to consume you. Additionally, the fact that a person or organization would call you a nigger whether in word, deed, or policy, says more about their morality than it does about you. To practice acceptance is to know what you can control and to make plans to protect your perspective. Acceptance takes a healthy dose of self-confidence. We need to believe our truths. Know our narratives. I can't control how the world treats me. I can't control how racism will affect my life, money, and safety. I can't control all the experiences I will or will not have because of who I am. However, I can control what stories I tell myself and how I talk to myself. How much work I put in. I control what I do with that anger. I own the lessons I learn from this life. The last and most important part of acceptance is understanding that it is a practice, and you have to accept that you will not always get it right. That being said… my father was right. I can win, though my race car is in the back. You can call me nigger, but you can't take my mental health. But also, you should do better.
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