Picture of the author and her brother "I just don’t understand why it’s a big deal. Why does taking the picture or the name off of a bottle matter?” He asked. My brother and I were talking about a syrup bottle. One that we had seen at a family gathering the day before. “Because of hundreds of years of slavery…” I immediately answer. Slow down, I tell myself even as the next word comes out of my mouth louder and more forceful than I intended… “Because generations of black and

Picture by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash I’ve written before about being frozen by big feelings in the face of overt racism (see post N**** r Lover ). The kind of moments where shame, sadness, or fear rise up so fast that my voice seems to disappear. Those moments still sit with me. They remind me the distance between who I’ve been and who I’m trying to be. I imagine myself naming racism clearly, thoroughly disrupting it, refusing the pull of whiteness that taught me silence. Bu

This week, as we were watching the second impeachment trial of Donald Trump, someone on the screen called the January 6th insurrection...

Saying goodbye to a year where, for much of it, we found ourselves restricted to only a few spaces, has me thinking about the ways place...

Not long ago our family visited the North Carolina state house and we meandered through an empty and majestic building. Wonder filled my...

I can still feel the week the officers who killed Breonna Taylor were not held responsible. It’s etched into me—not just because of the news itself, but because that same week one of my biracial kids quietly said they wished they had white skin like mine. Picture entitled Protest Signs from Wix I remember standing there, caught between heartbreak and fury, wishing this country could see and cherish their lives with the same ease it sees and cherishes mine. Wishing whiteness h

My white friends, I am writing from a place of desperation, of sadness and of fear. My family – black husband, brown kids and white me –...

“N****r lover.” Picture entitled Spread Love Poster from Wix He said it as I was exiting the building and he – an older white man – was entering. I froze. My arms were full – an infant in one and a small hand holding onto the other. My attention was fixed on negotiating with the toddler holding into my arm about the walk through the parking lot to our car. It was an ordinary moment. Until he spoke, I didn’t notice another person sharing space with us and the unexpected voice

July 4th is complicated for my Kenyan, American, black, brown and white family. First, it’s my birthday and my kids seem to think...