It was Friday night, and I was doing what I often do—mindlessly scrolling social media. That's where I found it—a white man telling me that criticizing ICE for killing people in the streets was basically the same as arguing for making the world more dangerous for his white daughter. Because of the rapists, apparently, that he seemed to think I was defending. Photo by Ian ODonnell on Unsplash He was responding to something I'd written about ICE killing people with little to no

Not long ago, I found myself at a celebration for a friend. Photo by Gama. Films on Unsplash Beautiful home. Warm energy. People I was happy to be around. The kind of night where you're genuinely glad to be where you are. At some point I ended up in conversation with three white men—guys I'd met before, easy enough to talk to. I'm white too, for context. It had been a while since we'd seen each other. One of them remembered that I used to work as a therapist. He asked if that

Every time I think I'm done thinking or writing about the SAVE Act, I find myself back here again... I keep hoping there'd be nothing left to say. That it'd be gone by now. But it's still here. And I think it's still here because the thing driving it—that pull to go backward—is still here too. Efforts to make our country less free. Less equitable. Less willing to honestly reckon with the harms we've already done, and the ones still happening right now. Photo by Rosie Kerr on

Whiteness feels especially heavy to me. It’s unsettling. Unsafe. This is coming from a white person in the U.S. Maybe it’s because it feels so loud and proud right now. Or maybe it’s because I’ve started to better recognize the lies whiteness tells, the power it continues to wield. And now it’s hard to stop noticing. Loud and Proud whiteness on display in Washington DC, July 4, 2026. From The Guardian. I say this a lot because I think it’s worth repeating — when I say whitene

By white, I mean for white people in the U.S. And honestly, I can't say for sure. Some people in my life would answer, unequivocally, yes. Maybe if I tell you a little more about my own history with the 4th, as a white person in this country, it'll help explain why I'm even asking the question. Photo by Bruno Ngarukiye on Unsplash I was born on July 4th. So — a great big happy 250th to the U.S., and happy birthday to me. I can say without a doubt that the 4th has always been

I want to speak to you like I would a friend. A fellow white person who is trying to stay engaged in a world that feels like it keeps asking more of us. Because it does. I’m writing to you as a friend who recognizes that being committed to equity isn’t always exciting. Today, we’re talking about actions to support mail-in voting and TPS status for Haitians in the U.S. Photo by Colin Lloyd on Unsplash Every week, it can feel like something new. Another policy shift. Another th

I know. You might be tired of hearing me say this name. Trust me — I’m tired of saying it. (Scroll to the bottom for what we can do!) I’ve written about it here, and here, and here. I have thought about it, wrestled with it, and talked about it more than I ever wanted to. I genuinely wish the SAVE Act — and every voter suppression attempt like it — would disappear forever. Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash I’ve written about it here, and here, and here. I have thought about it,

I want to talk about a pattern we have in the U.S. I’m not the first person to point it out. It goes something like this: White people commit violence in defense of power. Then, over time, the story changes. Photo by Dani Adkins on Unsplash The people who caused the harm become the ones who were really harmed. Persecuted. Treated unfairly. Accountability becomes oppression. Consequences become cruelty. And once the story flips, support often follows. Sympathy expands. Politic

I try to stay away from the words always and never. I'm not all-knowing. There's no way I can parse out what will always or never be the case. Language matters. And here's the caveat I need to offer before we go any further — when it comes to my brown kids or my Black partner and protecting them — it's always white people who feel the most unsafe. Photo by Jason Leung on Unsplash I also want to share this hope, that white folks can truly hear this and sit with it. I’m coming