What's Race Got to Do With It?

“That’s racist” were words I never expected to have shouted at me, especially not in front of so many friends and colleagues. So you can bet I’ll never forget them. Just like I’ll never forget the tears that came, the red cheeks that betrayed me, and what a fool I made of myself. I’ll never forget how deeply I thought I had no racism in me and how truly wrong I was. That was the day I started waking up to things like unconscious bias, white privilege, and inequity, and finding out what race has to do with everything.

It’s true that our whole generation is waking up. Every week new research emerges as we learn more about everything from eating better, being more socially responsible, protecting our grandparents from scams, removing the stigma from mental health, and using less plastic, to fighting child labor and human trafficking, preserving the rainforest, saving the oceans, reducing our waste, and on and on, causing us to change our mindsets and habits regarding everything from the food we eat and the packaging that food comes in to the clothes and phone cases we buy and what we do with our garbage. And we’re also waking up to what’s happening to people of color like Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, and so many of our friends going through things every single day I, as a white woman, can’t even imagine.

We’re beginning to see the realities of racial injustice. We see people targeted because of their race. We see things we thought didn’t exist anymore.

And we’re starting to see that there may be thoughts and feelings inside of us we didn’t put there - things we know we need to own up to like bias and inequality and privilege. It feels important, but so many times, we don’t even know where to start. We start to wonder, What difference can we really make? and What does any of this have to do with my family? It can be paralyzing because we humans hate being wrong. We hate admitting that what we thought or did yesterday wasn’t right or best.

We hate making mistakes. But so often, what we don’t realize is that the worst mistake we’re making is refusing to wake up and step past what we couldn’t see before.We don’t realize the example we’re setting for the next generation - and how important it is to wake up to what’s going on with racial injustice and unconscious bias. So I want to share my own waking-up story with you. It’s about how I had to shift my mindset away from “That can’t possibly be right; I…

“have friends who are people of color”
“don’t see color”
“am super-inclusive”
“never use racist remarks”
“love all kinds of people”
“call out other people all the time”
“am a HUGE advocate for social justice”
(or even “I was a sociology and social change major, for crying out loud” - my old #1)

And shift to something better than that. It’s about how we should:

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed individuals can change the world. In fact, it's the only thing that ever has."

- Margaret Mead

It’s about how I’m still trying to wake up. It’s by far the most difficult, most personal story I’ve written to date. And the one I’m most proud of. I don’t know any other way to make sure I’m not the only kind of mama who gets to go after her biggest dreams. It’s important to me that every mama gets that chance.

You can read it here. ⤵

My Racism Story

Waking Up to Something I Didn’t Want to Know About Myself

(published on The Kindred Voice)

I promised myself I wasn’t going to say anything. In fact, I swore I wouldn’t.
It had been almost a year since I had been in a room with these colleagues, and the pain of my last embarrassment was still fresh on my mind.
I knew we were going to have another discussion about race, and I knew whatever I said wouldn’t be the right thing, so I had vowed to be silent.
It pained me to hear stories about injustice and struggle – heartache and heartbreak – and just sit there, though. It broke my heart that anyone would have to go through the realities of racism every single day of their life and have to talk to their kids about it time after time after time. But I sat there and listened, trying to show compassion with my facial expressions. All the while feeling like it was wrong for me to be so silent.
Then, it came to me – a great idea.
This is the perfect thing! I thought, the perfect way to show my support and solidarity with race equity and inclusion. I’m going to be brave and say it. Surely I won’t get it wrong this time. It will be so encouraging – I just know it will.
So, I raised my hand and said it.
But as soon as it was out of my mouth, I knew I had made a huge mistake – it was written all over the faces of my black colleagues.
Then came the questions, the head nods, and the words I never wanted to hear.
“That’s racist.”
The words stung. Tears came to my eyes, threatening to spill over my red hot cheeks.
They must not understand what I meant, I thought. So, I explained. Then the words came again, from another.
“That’s racist.”
Again, the sting, the tears, the red-hot cheeks. I didn’t understand, but every question I asked only made the situation worse. So, I apologized, let them know I had no idea what I was saying was wrong and told them they had my support and I want to learn more.
And I meant it. I did want to learn more. But the wound went deep.
I had been called out and embarrassed in front of a room full of people I admired and had spent the last 12 years trying to impress with my hard work.
Before I left the room that day, my embarrassment had turned into anger.
Friends called to check on me after the meeting ended, and I told them about my anger. I called family members to tell them what had happened, too. Then, I kept talking and talking about it.
I raged against the way I felt I had been targeted.
I raged against my colleagues’ prejudice of me.
I raged against the plight of white women trying to navigate this stuff today.
And all of a sudden, I started hearing myself say things that shook me to my core.
Things like “They always…” and “They never…”
Things that made me sound like the victim.
It made me sick.
“I didn’t know that was inside of me,” is what I wanted to say. But the truth was I didn’t want to know.
And then, I started to wake up.
In months prior, my black colleagues had tried to be subtle about my need for growth, but I hadn’t seen it.
I hadn’t wanted to see it.
When the meeting facilitators had begged us to share our experiences and feelings about race issues in America, I had responded with stories about my upbringing - what it was like growing up as a private school white girl and how I was always the one who didn’t see race, who reached out to black friends, who studied sociology in college and discovered the realities of racism in America for myself at a time when others around me didn’t understand them. I had thought I was showing solidarity and proving myself to be someone on their side – someone ready to tackle systemic racism in America with them.

In reality, I was putting my ignorance on full display, labeling myself as part of the problem.

By saying I didn’t see race, I had said the race experience didn’t matter. Now I know that’s white privilege.

By being frightened by their anger, I had shown my own preference for a certain way of expression – the white way. Now I know that’s called white fragility.

By putting my own white family stories alongside their black family stories, I had downgraded their pain, downplayed their experience, shut my ears by opening my mouth and demonstrated my own ignorance about the depths of what they go through every day just because of the color of their skin. Now I know that’s racism.

By taking offense when they said white people had gained their careers and power positions because of their privilege and black people had to work twice as hard, I was ignoring systemic racism and the need for equity in my country. I was wrong in the worst way.

I was wrong about so many things.

Over the next six months, my pain and anger gave way to humility, regret, and at times, shame.

But I was determined to be better.

I started reaching out to friends who thought differently than me, reading books I had shied away from, seeking out articles with opposing views from my own, and praying in an honest “Help me see” way I hadn’t in a very long time.

I was starting to wake up, beginning to see myself through different eyes.

I saw her – this shiny-white over-confident young person all smiles and giggles saying she understood something she could never in a million years understand.

I saw her – this white girl talking about her solidarity with a reality she had no right to think she could begin to see.

I wanted to hide.

I wanted to run to my black colleagues and apologize.
I wanted to let my tears fall like rain and never put myself out there in the world again.

But more than that, I knew I needed to learn – and to keep learning for the rest of my life.

And that’s what I’m doing now.

Even as I write this, I feel guilty for sharing my story because I know some of you will feel sorry for me. Please, please don’t.

I feel afraid to send these words for publication because I know there are parts that will reveal my racism and continued ignorance – the thing I hate most about myself.

I feel embarrassed because so many black people may read this piece and not feel honored or valued because I’m talking more about myself than about anything else.

I feel angry because so many white people will read this piece and continue to argue that racism doesn’t live inside of them.

But this piece feels important to publish – not because I want my voice to be heard. Rather, because I know I’m not alone. I know I’m not the only shiny-white girl who needs a path forward to change. I know I’m not the only white person who needs to face their racism.

I know I’m not the only person who doesn’t know what she doesn’t know.

We all have a racism story – a dislike for things unlike ourselves, a preference for people who look like us, a snicker at a name that’s different, an up-turned nose at decor or food that isn’t something people like us prefer – and if we’re American, we also have a system that backs up our love for all that’s white and a distrust for all that’s not because we live within systemic racism – a system that’s set to white.

And we are the ones who have to change it.

If you disagree, or if reading this brings you pain you can’t explain, I want you to know change is possible and it starts on the inside. In the secret place. I know because I was just there.

Now I’m thankful for the pain.

What happened to me helped me in more ways that I can say. Most of all, it helped me step into who I was meant to be.

Even as I realize that believing that day was about me at all means I still have so much to learn.

I know this is the only way, and that’s how I make peace with it.

The next time I have an opportunity to be in a room with black Americans talking about race, equity, and inclusion, I will absolutely be keeping my mouth shut. This time, for a very different reason.

This time, I will be quiet because I want to listen – because I want to know.

I hope you will join me.

“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.”

- Maya Angelou

Celeste Orr doesn’t usually write about race. On a typical day, she’s a smiley, outdoor-loving mom hiking mountains at her home in Maine and writing about family togetherness and big family dreams. If you’re into family togetherness and the outdoors – or if you want to send her a note – you can join her free email group at togethernessredefined.com.

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What about you?

Are there things about race, equity, white privilege, inclusion, equality, social justice, unconscious bias, Asian hate, Black Lives Matter, and becoming an anti-racist that are confusing you right now? Things you may have misunderstood and are afraid to tell anyone because it feels too embarrassing to ask?

Are there things you’ve been afraid to consider because believing something different feels too painful?

I don’t have all of the answers, but I want you to know you have a safe place to grow & help your family grow here.

Start anywhere.

Here’s what I’m doing - I’d love for you to join:

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