There is something I must admit. 

Something that has been weighing on my heart. 

Something that I…fear I may have passed on to my daughter. Something negative. Like, maybe I’m not breaking generational patterns after all. And I’m fearful that it’s too late to rectify this.

At the beginning of every week, I somehow convince myself that this is the week I will not only operate at my highest self, but my most liberated self. THIS is the week that my jaw will unclench, my shoulders will drop, and my tension will ease. I will move through life filled with peace, patience for my children, and an immense amount confidence in where I am and where I’m going. I will be “that girl.”

I had my first eureka moment about society and the pressures of success about five years ago. I was fervently researching racism and white supremacy because I was fed up with living in a society that seemed so dedicated to hating Black bodies. My research existed to answer one question, and one question only: Why? As in, why do they hate us so much? The follow up question: and how did we end up here?

I used to stare at my dad in awe, his eyes sparkling every time he talked about his career. I never fully understood what he was saying—I just knew that he was a genius chemist who adored his work. His passion never faded. No matter how many late nights were required of him, or how exhausted frequent travel made him, he was in his element, and he loved every minute of it. Every time I watched him come alive in his work, I knew I wanted a career that would do the same for me. I knew I wanted a career that made my eyes sparkle just like his.

I have yet to find that sparkle.

Last night, Kendrick spoke loudly, reigniting the fire in my spirit that once burned bright but had been dimmed for too long: it’s time to televise the revolution.

The moment the world implodes with, yet, another political or humanitarian crisis and everyone’s think-tank caps immediately spring into position, the only thing I feel inclined to do is hide. I find myself mindlessly scrolling as I internalize my panic and anxiety. The pressure to have the perfect academically intelligent response to the events that just occurred is looming.

This is not breaking news.

Saying the words, “America is an individualistic society,” is like saying “water is wet.” Yeah, we know. This is not breaking news. American society does not function without its populace completely buying into the belief that individualism is the one right way to function as a human.