I’m Writing About Liberation With a Clenched Jaw
On the gap between the liberation I write about and the chronic tension I carry in my body.
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.”
To make this happen, I over-prepare for the week. Planner—filled in. Every moment scheduled. Workouts—planned. Food—prepped. Laundry—done. Affirmations—written. You name it; I’ve prepped it.
Yet the moment Monday morning hits, I wake from my exhausted slumber in a panic, already “behind schedule” — rushing downstairs to work out so I can get back “on schedule,” then racing upstairs to wake the kids, get dressed, make breakfast, and start homeschool, all on time.
I know. It sounds crazy. Or maybe it doesn’t—who knows? If you’re a mom reading this, you probably get it. But, I think most people hearing something like this may tell me to stop scheduling everything so tightly because we all know that nothing ever goes according to plan with parenting—or life, really. There will be meltdowns, refusals, defiance, illness, or whatever else your kids—or life—decide to throw your way to remind you that you have zero authority over yourself.
(This morning it was the 20 minutes it took me to get one eyelash out of my eye, successfully eating away at the hour window I had to get an ounce of work done. It’s always something.)
The truth is, writing these essays is how I fight for my own autonomy. It is the one thing that isn’t caretaking. If you value this space where we name these systems for what they are, consider becoming a paid subscriber. Your support helps me keep this work—and myself—sustainable.
But, I can’t help it.
As much as I’d love to have as little care as my snoring husband who will get every ounce of sleep he can get—morning routine be damned—I know that as a mother who has chosen to educate her children from home, my only chance at maintaining sanity is to have every moment planned, sacrifice an hour of sleep, and often move at a constantly rushed pace in order to make it all work together.
Sure, I could not workout, nor put attention and care into my outfits, and go barefaced with the same mom-uniform that every other mom around me wears. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just not me.) But, I don’t want to. I want a semblance of my autonomy, my womanhood, and my wellness prioritized even if it costs distress to my nervous system and squeezing every inch out of every day to make it happen.
However—and this is where the insanity kicks in—while I do all of these things to maintain a level of “sanity,” I still walk through most of the week with a clenched jaw, tense shoulders, and persistent stress. There are days I go without mustering a single smile. I exist in a chronic fight or flight mode because my soon-to-be 7-year-old still has angry outbursts multiple times a day. I remain numbed and even-keeled, existing in a basic state just to keep myself from reacting with my own outburst. (There’s often throwing of objects, or even of hands, involved. Yes, I know this could be a sign of neurodivergence. No, I don’t need advice, thank you.)
I want a semblance of my autonomy, my womanhood, and my wellness prioritized even if it costs distress to my nervous system.
The reality is, the entirety of my life is the caretaking of others: my children, my home, and yes, even my husband. (This isn’t to say that my husband doesn't do his part—he does—but as the at-home parent, much of my role is managing things that he cannot because he is primarily out of the home.)
Almost every place I go, and every thing I do, pertains to caretaking.
I put on the flyest outfits to take my children to their classes, co-ops, and activities. I do a full face beat to go to the grocery store. The majority of my days are spent providing my kids with an academic education that spans beyond reading, writing, and arithmetic.
By day’s end, we’ve had conversations about Black history, generational healing, and emotional regulation. We discuss what respect looks like, why it’s so important to be a happy helper, and why I refuse to let them succumb to some of the habits of their generation—like screen addiction. I’m teaching life skills—supervising my children as they make their breakfast and lunch, involving them in household chores and errands, and even backseat driving lessons on what different road signs mean.
I am never not “on.”
And I do all of this with a perpetually clenched jaw, a tension I forget exists because it feels so normal, and a deep-seated loneliness as I watch the woman I so desperately want to be slip further and further from my grasp.
(But, hey—my outfits are cute, though!)
And yet, at the beginning of each week, I still believe that this will be the week that feels different. This will be the week where I loosen that tension, move throughout my day with ease, and somehow feel fulfilled in the wonderful work I’m doing with my children.
Insanity.
I watch the woman I so desperately want to be slip further and further from my grasp.
No matter how well I stick with my schedule, prepare for every logistic of the week, check-off every workout, and follow every wellness ritual, the moment I’m thrown into the thick of caretaking, I spend the rest of my day operating from a place of hyper vigilance.
It’s the fact that I’m operating from that place that makes me feel like a hypocrite in my work.
How can I write about liberation when I feel like I spend the majority of my time living so…un-librated?
How can I write about liberation when I’m still driven so much by colonized thinking—believing that I’ll feel more fulfilled if I had my dream career, thriving social calendar, and a certain level of success?
Part of the reason we homeschool is because we want to provide our children with a more decolonized, liberated education and learning environment. Yet, while I provide that for my children, I rarely provide that for myself. The isolation of being at the mercy of my children all day—sneaking moments of writing and career efforts and feeling diminished as I squeeze my womanhood into the cracks of my motherhood—continues to make it feel nearly impossible to be my most liberated self.
If I feel like I’m living the opposite of a liberated life, how can I write and build a career around helping others reclaim liberation in theirs?
I’ve wrestled with this block since shifting into this liberation space—feeling as though my own struggles prove why my book and other work has only yielded subpar results.
Sure, I may research and write well—making connections to history, white supremacy, and society that many others struggle to—but my life doesn’t feel like it reflects the liberation I write about. That negative energy must be the reason, right? If my life looked like my work, surely it would perform better, right?
This begs the question: what does actual liberation look like in daily life?
What does it feel like?
Sound like?
Taste like?
How do we navigate the very real obstacles of everyday life in a white supremacist, capitalist system designed to deplete and exploit us and still…live liberated?
Is that even possible?
The Hard Part
Here’s an honest truth and a messy middle I wrestle with: our self-liberation journeys will never come to completion until collective liberation is achieved. While we can adopt certain practices in our lives, and do the work to dismantle our internalized white supremacy, we will never live in true liberation while our society—and the world—are the architecture of oppression.
Also, if we aren’t careful, our self-liberation journeys can take on individualistic characteristics, which is just white supremacy finding a way to re-manifest itself. (More on that another time.)
Every single thing we navigate in our lives is the result of white supremacy:
the capitalist system in which our careers must bow down to
the isolation in our neighborhoods, zoning districts, and lack of public support and services
unequal educational access as a result of racism, classism, and redlining
mothers, mothering in isolation without access to services, parental leave, affordable childcare, and flexible work options
what goods, services, and retail our neighborhoods do or do not have access to
loss of community after decades of racist riots, highway expansion, and eminent domain destroyed Black neighborhoods
whether our neighborhoods are easily accessible to our jobs/commute
the pressure we feel for our bodies to look and function a certain way
the access, or lack thereof, we have to quality, nutrient dense foods
I could go on, and I’m sure you can add to this list, too
It’s easy to forget just how much of an effect these systems that uphold white supremacy have on us. None of us are immune to the effects of these systems, no matter how much internal liberation work we do. Unfortunately, much of our liberation work is about recognizing the harm caused by the systems so that we can take some of the pressure off ourselves, recognizing that we aren’t at fault for our limitations no matter how much white supremacy tries to convince us that we are. Our healing work won’t cause the burdens of white supremacy culture to magically disappear—it will allow us to recognize where white supremacy is at play and develop a practice to try to either mitigate some of those effects or regulate ourselves through navigating it’s inevitable effects.
The fact that I am mothering mostly in isolation is an inevitable effect of white supremacy. Caretaking was never supposed to be a solo act. Individualism is not natural to our human instincts. We were always meant to do life, and raise our children, in community—with our fellow neighbors or villagers. Black Americans have always carried this cultural tradition with us, which is why our neighborhoods have always been so communal. But, the destruction of many of those communities, and the under-resourced reality of what’s remaining, has contributed much to the individualism we are forced to endure.
And, while white Americans who are gung-ho individualists may not know this, they were also never meant to live in isolation. None of us were. But, individualism protects white supremacy, so it’s touted as a badge of honor and marker of success. The more you can do solo, the more worthy you are.
The reality? The more you do solo, the more you need to feed capitalism by purchasing a good or a service that would normally be done by community.
The more capitalism is fed, the more wealth lines the pockets of elite white men, and the more the rest of us suffer.
The more you do solo, the more you need to feed capitalism by purchasing a good or service that would normally be done by community.
The tension I carry in my shoulders, the clench in my jaw, and the numbness in my gaze have little to do with actual motherhood. (Little, but let’s not act like motherhood isn’t the ghetto.) It’s the fact that I’m doing this alone. I’m playing the roles of educator, nurse, mediator, counselor, housekeeper, personal chef, executive manager, appointment keeper, chauffeur, and so much more—and I’m doing so largely unsupported.
These are all full-time roles—roles professionals are typically paid for and expected to perform within teams. But as mothers, we’re expected to do all of them at once, often in isolation. We don’t have colleagues to brainstorm with, commiserate with, or tap in when we’re overwhelmed. We don’t have a village. We have a culture that tells us to do it all—and quietly.
This is not how motherhood should be done, but white supremacy has forced us into this unnatural reality. '
And this is what prevents me from fully living in liberation. I can’t deny that.
We cannot deny that our circumstances, environments, roles and the expectations that surround them are the byproduct of white supremacy. Systemic white supremacy produces and fuels cultural white supremacy, and it’s everywhere. We cannot escape it. We can only learn how to live within it—finding ways to practice resistance whenever and wherever we can, while accepting that our healing from the harm of white supremacy will also be a lifelong journey.
Living Liberated in an Un-liberated World
Returning to the questions: What does liberation in daily life look like? And, does my life reflect that?
I’m realizing that there is no one right answer, and accepting that is where true internal liberation lies. Now, I don’t believe this is the answer for systemic, collective liberation.
We know that collective liberation can only occur under the following circumstances:
When Black liberation is achieved. Period, full stop.
When there is no longer a hierarchy of humanity in both our society and global society.
When there is no longer an ability for one group of people to oppress another group of people.
When human rights is no longer a controversial debate.
We are often told our exhaustion is a personal problem to solve with a better planner. I’m committed to naming the systemic roots instead. To join the deeper conversation on dismantling these internal hurdles, you can upgrade to a paid subscription here.
But, internal libration? Liberation in daily life? That will look different for each of us, and we mustn’t succumb to pressure to make our liberation “look like” something specific.
The truth is, living liberated will often still result in our days feeling tense, exhausted, unsupported, lonely, and even battling feelings of depression and anxiety. This doesn’t mean your liberation journey is failing or that you’re doing it wrong. It means you are trying to resist a pervasive system, and while resistance is liberating, it’s still hard. You’re still swimming up current in a raging torrent—getting hit by boulders, logs, and other debris with every stroke.
You will feel that weight every day. Some days will feel easier, even lighter than others. The weather will be calmer that day. You will make more progress, swim a bit further, perhaps reach a new point upstream you thought you’d never make it to. Other days, the storm will rage, intensifying the current, magnifying the debris, and causing you to feel more defeated than ever.
You’re still living liberated because you are refusing to quit resisting. To quit swimming.
And, while this will often feel excruciatingly hard, you will also feel stronger in the best way, more prepared for everything the current throws at you as you keep swimming, and you are freed from believing that the tension and hurdles are your fault. You know the truth about the current you are fighting against now—you are no longer at the mercy of what the system tries to condition you to believe.
You know the truth, and that is the most liberating of all.
Most importantly, you are freed from ever letting that current take over, sending you downstream to your undoing.
For it is only when you succumb to hopelessness that you stop living liberated.
It is only when you quit resisting that the current takes you.
This Is Liberation (Even When It Doesn’t Feel Like It)
I will probably never stop feeling like my life is the definition of insanity—at least, not in this season. It’s just not realistic. I’m attempting to swim up-current in isolation, navigating a role that was never meant to be performed without support. Not only that, much of what encompasses that role are decisions I’ve had to make because of other societal and cultural harms of white supremacy—like the decision to homeschool.
Of course I’m tense. Of course my jaw is clenched. Of course I have days where I can’t remember the last time I fully smiled.
I’m resisting everything society has designed to defeat me, and I’m teaching my daughters to do the same.
That is the true liberation.
The true liberation lies in the fact that I no longer believe I need to be perfect in every aspect of my life—mindlessly filling my task list because I define busyness as a sign of worth.
The true liberation lies in the fact that I’m teaching my daughters to love themselves fully in a world designed to make them hate themselves. I’m also educating my daughters in a more in-depth way than they would receive at their local public school right now—so their foundational skills exceed average baselines in a world that wants them to fail.
I’m living liberated because of this article I’m writing. I know that this work doesn’t lead to an easy paycheck, and typically yields more hatred than acceptance. Still, I choose to do this work anyway. I choose to continue fighting for my liberation and yours.
And, I know that my self-care, my joy, and my rest is the ultimate resistance.
Yes, I often exist in a state of chronic stress—my nervous system rarely knowing what regulation looks like. Yet, I know self-care must occur if I am to not only continue this work, but continue succeeding in my roles that I must perform within the confines of this system while actively resisting it. I used to ignore self-care and now it’s a daily nonnegotiable.
I may struggle daily, but I succeed daily, too.
I succeed because my children are happy, free to be themselves, well-educated, and feel safe in the arms of their mother.
I succeed because I choose to dedicate time and energy to get to know myself better now that I no longer let the demands of white supremacy culture dictate who I am.
I succeed because I finally love myself—no longer interrogating my Blackness in the mirror, questioning why God made me so imperfectly.
The truth is—liberation in daily life is a battle. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but that would be dishonest. It’s a battle, and it will remain a battle. But as long as you—and I—remain in the battle, we are winning.
And slowly, breath by breath, we are learning how to let our jaws unclench.
P.S. My book WILL change your life. You will finally break free from internalized white supremacy. For good.