White Folks, What Does It Mean to Center Whiteness?

Not long ago, I wrote about white-ing hard—a familiar experience many of us white folks know. It’s when we show up in ways that make the world bend toward what feels comfortable, familiar, and unsurprising to us.

Photo by Rapha Wilde on Unsplash

When our habits, preferences, and stories become the default, the “normal,” the only way that seems right. That piece was a personal reckoning—a way to name something I saw in myself and others, something quietly shaping so much of our daily lives as white people.

But white-ing hard is only part of the story.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about something that’s easy for white folks to miss—how whiteness quietly, almost invisibly, slips into the center of our everyday lives. It’s like a shadow that’s always there, taking up space without us even noticing.

I’ve been there. I’ve done it. Many times. Most of us white folks have.

But here’s the thing: whiteness doesn’t just wander into the middle on its own. We put it there. It’s an active choice we make, often without realizing it.

Centering whiteness shows up in the little decisions we make every day—where we turn our attention, whose feelings we rush to protect, which truths we allow to be spoken and which ones we quietly push aside.

It might sound like a big, abstract idea, but really it comes down to something simple: whiteness takes center stage whenever white comfort, preferences, or feelings get more room than anything—or anyone—else in the conversation.

So what does this look like in real life? I want to share some moments I’ve seen — moments that helped me realize just how quickly the center can shift. Maybe some of these will feel familiar to you too.

In Organizations

I once watched a mostly white nonprofit team realize something important—almost all of their partnerships were with white-led organizations. This went against the values they proudly held up. So you’d think that maybe the next step could be to ask hard questions:

Why aren’t leaders of color partnering with us? What about our culture might feel unwelcoming? What needs to change?

But instead, they handed the “diversity work” to their one employee of color. No added power. No real support. No leadership accountability. Just… responsibility given all over to her.

And when conversations about whiteness or inequity came up, the energy in the room swung quickly toward soothing the white staff and executives—reassuring them that they were “good people.” The actual issue disappeared.

That’s centering whiteness. The focus shifts away from the inequity and toward protecting white comfort. And nothing real changes.

In Friendship

I’ve watched this unfold in close circles too. A friend of color shares a raw, painful story about racism—something that already carries the weight of real harm. The group listens for a moment. There’s quiet. There’s impact.

And then it shifts. One white friend slips into guilt: “I feel awful. I can’t believe this happened. I hate that you had to go through this…” Their emotion takes over. Their voice gets louder. Tears come.

And just like that, the center moves.

Instead of staying with the friend who was brave enough to speak their truth, the group turns toward the white friend—comforting, reassuring, tending to their feelings. Even the friend of color finds themselves tending to someone else’s hurt.

That’s centering whiteness. And it can compound the harm.

The original racial injury — the experience of racism — is met not with solidarity or support, but with overwhelming whiteness. The friend of color isn’t heard. Their truth isn’t held. And everyone misses the chance to stand together against the heaviness of racism and face the truth of how whiteness keeps it alive.

In Faith Communities

I’ve seen this show up in spiritual spaces too—places where people come hoping for honesty, belonging, and a sense of shared purpose. In one multiracial church, there was an unspoken agreement not to preach about racial injustice. The worry was usually voiced in the same way: It might divide us. Some people won’t connect. Let’s not make it political.

So sermons stayed “safe.” Worship stayed centered in familiar white traditions. The fullness of the community — everyone’s stories, everyone’s language, everyone’s longing—never made it to the front of the room.

And here’s what that can do—it tells people of color, week after week, that their truth might be too much. That their experiences are secondary to whiteness. That their presence is welcome, but only if it fits within the comfort of the white members.

That’s centering whiteness. It’s choosing comfort over courage, even in places that claim to hold everyone with love and belonging.

In Families

I’ve also watched this play out in homes with families. A child of color shared that they felt scared after an encounter with police. You can hear the vulnerability in their voice. You can feel how much courage it took to say it out loud. Their white relatives pause, maybe even soften for a moment… but then the conversation shifts into reassurance, and away from truth.

“If you follow the rules, you’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure they didn’t mean anything by it.”

And you can almost see the child shrink in real time. Their fear is treated like a misunderstanding instead of a lived reality. The adults rush to restore their own sense of safety rather than sitting with the fact that safety is not equal—and that this child knows that in their bones.

That’s centering whiteness. The adults mute the child’s truth so they don’t have to face a world that looks and feels more dangerous through their child’s eyes. They avoid sitting with the hard reality that whiteness shapes who is safe—and who isn’t.

Why This Matters

Moments like these can look harmless to some of us. It can feel like folks are just trying to keep the “peace” or stay “neutral.” But underneath, something real is happening. And it’s happening because of choices white folks make.

Whiteness moves to the center because we move it there.We protect our comfort.We redirect the conversation.We soften the truth so we don’t have to feel stretched.

And the cost isn’t only borne by people of color—white folks lose, too.

We lose the relationships we say we want.We lose opportunities to learn and grow.We lose alignment with the values we’re proud to name—honesty, fairness, love, justice.

All because we choose comfort in the moment. And that comfort doesn’t last. It doesn’t free us.

What Could Be Different?

Keeping whiteness out of the center doesn’t mean ignoring ourselves or pretending white people don’t matter. It means making sure more than one story matters in the room. It means shifting the center so it’s big enough for connection, truth, and shared humanity.

That can look like:

• Listening longer than we speak.

• Letting discomfort stretch us instead of shut us down.

• Choosing accountability over appearances.

• Making room for traditions, truths, and voices that we haven’t centered before.

When whiteness isn’t taking up all the air, something beautiful can open up. Workplaces can move closer to equity. Relationships can deepen. Communities can reflect the fullness and beauty of who we really are. Families have room to grow braver and more loving.

And we—white folks—can become more whole.

It’s about making room for something truer. Something more human. Something all of us need.