I feel this so much living in an environment that enforces anti - intellectual conformity. I’m constantly expected to dumb myself down to the intellectual boundaries of those around me. People get very uncomfortable very quickly when I speak with passion. It’s as if the vigor with which I assert convictions is threateningly aggressive. It’s not cool to know things or believe things passionately anymore. That’s sad and lonely for thinking people.
I know exactly what you mean. That pressure to soften what you know, to dim the heat of your own mind just to keep a room steady, is its own kind of erosion. It teaches you to leave yourself long before you realize you’ve stepped out.
I recognize a lot of myself in these words. - It paints what I feel so deeply as it relates to the versions of me pre versus post election. - I understand now, that before... maybe all my life I was merely getting by. Squeezing into places I thought were mostly safe only to feel "almost" blindsided when the last election was called for DJT. - Honestly, I'm not sure if I have yet to completely process the magnitude of just how much of a fundamental, core shift it created for me. - I do know that when I try to explain the level of grief I felt, and perhaps in some ways am still working through... I get a sense that the people I voice it to just do not seem to comprehend my words as deeply as I feel them. - This work may be the closest I've come to feeling really seen in the aftermath, and there is much here that will help me process more I think. - So much to sit with and digest. - Thank you for "thinking many of my thoughts and emotions out loud" with this one!
Cherina, I felt every word of this. That quiet rupture you described, the way grief lived in you after the election and how hard it was to name it to people who could not meet you there, is something I recognize more than I have ever said aloud. I am grateful the work could sit with you in a place that has felt so solitary. If anything here helped you feel even a little more understood, then I am thankful. Your honesty means more than you know.
Thank you for this. Coming from someone who studies our history with that kind of care, your words land with real weight. I wrote this piece knowing how often Black men are asked to mute the very truths that keep us alive. To have you call the work beautiful, and necessary, means more than I can say.
I’m grateful you heard what I was trying to name. 🤎
I totally got what you were saying and I was glad you had the courage to say it. I don’t know if you’re familiar with Dr. Joy McGruy, but she has written quite a bit about the trauma we all carry. She’s a visiting professor at Morehouse College this year. I think she would be quite impressed with what you wrote, particularly since she has spoken about the real scientific reason women live longer than men. You have broken that mold that she says can be broken. Congratulations.
Thank you for writing this beautiful piece. I am reminded of the recent novel, “James” by Percival Everett.
I am also reminded of my workplace’s reaction to a rant I went on at the nurses station while witnessing January 6. My hospital system sent a system wide email prohibiting discussion of politics in the workplace. This was aimed at dissent, however, and not at the good ole boys who discuss their agreeableness with the confederate movement we are experiencing and who keep the lounge TV tuned into Fox News. Those of us whose voice might make the normies uncomfortable with our analysis enough to submit a professionalism complaint are chilled by the policy. So I perform and drift at times and show up whole at other times.
I recently embraced the warmth in my chest during a conversation I derailed about college football. My coworkers were soliciting my input regarding recent rivalry games. I derailed the mundane banter by correcting the characterization of myself as a “fan” for my support for a certain team. In the Deep South it is blasphemous to question our religious devotion to college football fanaticism. Marx said that religion is the opiate of the masses. Well in the Deep South that opiate is as much college football as it is evangelical Christianity, perhaps more so. Because no matter what one’s religion is, one is expected to pick a team. A certain RN for several days has refused to speak to me because I “take the fun out of every conversation”. I joked that I’m great at parties.
I want to thank you for the depth of what you said here. You named the tension I was writing through, the one between being whole and being useful inside systems that benefit from our drift. Hearing that the piece felt clear to you, and that it carried even a trace of the precision you see in Everett, means a great deal. I read his Pulitzer winning James this year, and it pushed me to choose my language with more honesty and less fear.
Your reflections about showing up, especially in a moment when so much seems designed to keep us quiet or fragmented, felt like someone placing a steady hand on the work itself. I am grateful you read it with that kind of seriousness.
I feel this so much living in an environment that enforces anti - intellectual conformity. I’m constantly expected to dumb myself down to the intellectual boundaries of those around me. People get very uncomfortable very quickly when I speak with passion. It’s as if the vigor with which I assert convictions is threateningly aggressive. It’s not cool to know things or believe things passionately anymore. That’s sad and lonely for thinking people.
I know exactly what you mean. That pressure to soften what you know, to dim the heat of your own mind just to keep a room steady, is its own kind of erosion. It teaches you to leave yourself long before you realize you’ve stepped out.
I recognize a lot of myself in these words. - It paints what I feel so deeply as it relates to the versions of me pre versus post election. - I understand now, that before... maybe all my life I was merely getting by. Squeezing into places I thought were mostly safe only to feel "almost" blindsided when the last election was called for DJT. - Honestly, I'm not sure if I have yet to completely process the magnitude of just how much of a fundamental, core shift it created for me. - I do know that when I try to explain the level of grief I felt, and perhaps in some ways am still working through... I get a sense that the people I voice it to just do not seem to comprehend my words as deeply as I feel them. - This work may be the closest I've come to feeling really seen in the aftermath, and there is much here that will help me process more I think. - So much to sit with and digest. - Thank you for "thinking many of my thoughts and emotions out loud" with this one!
Cherina, I felt every word of this. That quiet rupture you described, the way grief lived in you after the election and how hard it was to name it to people who could not meet you there, is something I recognize more than I have ever said aloud. I am grateful the work could sit with you in a place that has felt so solitary. If anything here helped you feel even a little more understood, then I am thankful. Your honesty means more than you know.
This piece is stunningly beautiful. It was nice to hear a young Black man speak a truth that few are willing to speak in this age and era.
Thank you for this. Coming from someone who studies our history with that kind of care, your words land with real weight. I wrote this piece knowing how often Black men are asked to mute the very truths that keep us alive. To have you call the work beautiful, and necessary, means more than I can say.
I’m grateful you heard what I was trying to name. 🤎
I totally got what you were saying and I was glad you had the courage to say it. I don’t know if you’re familiar with Dr. Joy McGruy, but she has written quite a bit about the trauma we all carry. She’s a visiting professor at Morehouse College this year. I think she would be quite impressed with what you wrote, particularly since she has spoken about the real scientific reason women live longer than men. You have broken that mold that she says can be broken. Congratulations.
Thank you for writing this beautiful piece. I am reminded of the recent novel, “James” by Percival Everett.
I am also reminded of my workplace’s reaction to a rant I went on at the nurses station while witnessing January 6. My hospital system sent a system wide email prohibiting discussion of politics in the workplace. This was aimed at dissent, however, and not at the good ole boys who discuss their agreeableness with the confederate movement we are experiencing and who keep the lounge TV tuned into Fox News. Those of us whose voice might make the normies uncomfortable with our analysis enough to submit a professionalism complaint are chilled by the policy. So I perform and drift at times and show up whole at other times.
I recently embraced the warmth in my chest during a conversation I derailed about college football. My coworkers were soliciting my input regarding recent rivalry games. I derailed the mundane banter by correcting the characterization of myself as a “fan” for my support for a certain team. In the Deep South it is blasphemous to question our religious devotion to college football fanaticism. Marx said that religion is the opiate of the masses. Well in the Deep South that opiate is as much college football as it is evangelical Christianity, perhaps more so. Because no matter what one’s religion is, one is expected to pick a team. A certain RN for several days has refused to speak to me because I “take the fun out of every conversation”. I joked that I’m great at parties.
I want to thank you for the depth of what you said here. You named the tension I was writing through, the one between being whole and being useful inside systems that benefit from our drift. Hearing that the piece felt clear to you, and that it carried even a trace of the precision you see in Everett, means a great deal. I read his Pulitzer winning James this year, and it pushed me to choose my language with more honesty and less fear.
Your reflections about showing up, especially in a moment when so much seems designed to keep us quiet or fragmented, felt like someone placing a steady hand on the work itself. I am grateful you read it with that kind of seriousness.