Last week I almost caught a case up in this bitch. It was at times a collision of helpless moments that had no clear way to dodge past the madness. I was left to absorb all the energy with little to no outlet to manage my own trauma about it. Although there's a part of me that has become incredibly adapted to the trauma, the sadness is really for the aspect of myself that can never seemingly break free of the traumas. I felt that piece of myself die and no one can hear me screaming. I cried for the Adrienne HS student who felt the same way almost as hard as I cried for the Adrienne educator version.
Based on the many conversations I attempted to have so I could be clear of the energy, nothing can replace what has been taken especially when the wounds rarely seem apparent to anyone other than me. I realize with great sadness, this profession "lost me" a long time ago and I didn't consciously want to admit my own death had already happened. I was hanging on for the kids. It has been an almost complete death by low expectations and I realize how low they are because my own are now so low, they are practically invisible. I spend time plotting and planning for my 'Emancipation date' like I'm at a Juneteenth picnic while hoping a better offer will free me even earlier. I daydream about things being different - an acknowledgment of my skills and sacrifice versus the exploitation of them only when someone else needs something. "Czar of Black youth" for a school district that cared enough to really tackle de-colonizing education for the benefit of ALL.
The anger is overwhelming while it bumps up next to all of the things I'm not allowed to be in my work environment - assertive, smart, ambitious, advocate for a perspective that is invisible normally, respected for what I contribute and who I am in this space.
I guess the true sadness is for the institution itself and the reality it has always held - "I'VE GOT TO EDUCATE MYSELF." Like going to a doctor to be told you have cancer and then the doctor asks you, "What are you going to do to treat it?" The silence of the people around me is the straw breaking the back of the possibility. It's a microcosm of what goes on in the world. To fight it from multiple fronts is exhausting. Not even a conversation in a social setting can be free of the madness of the supremacy and privilege some other people hold in ignoring it. To the point, unsolicited advice is delivered with a dismissive quality that tells me, once again, this Zombie can not be killed except by a shot to the Head.
My death in this career is nearly complete. Like hoards of others, whatever it's been will fade into the memory of time. I will lick my wounds as usual and find a way to walk through the gauntlet that awaits me, again! The essence of who I am had been baptized through the fire and I remain solid in the over standings my contribution has been to those who care to see it. In the bizarrest of ways, it has made me who I am, at least this version of me, an additional double standard on top of the others. We're just in disagreement about what it took to get here.
"IF YOU DIDNT LEARN ABOUT PEOPLE LIKE ME IN SCHOOL. YOU DON'T INTERACT WITH PEOPLE LIKE ME IN LIFE. YA SURE DON'T GET TO TELL ME ABOUT PEOPLE LIKE ME."
