My Neck Knows What To Do
My somatic response to racism sharpens my strength
Somatization
When I experience racism, my neck tightens, a pressure pushes from behind my eyes, and I sense that my head is shimmying in water, like a pulsating jellyfish, and then I know I have entered what I call “the zone.” The mental health field recognizes somatization as the body’s expression of a mental concern. People reading this might lump my response into fight, flight, or freeze. Some might say it is a thought, feeling, or call to action. I experience it more like a zone. You might be surprised that I actually think of the zone as a friend. It tells me, “Yes, we have just entered dangerous waters. But don’t worry. We have been here before, and we will be here again. You know what to do.”
The Racism Zone
The zone makes no mistake. It lets me know, “You are in the thick of racism. Don’t get it twisted.”
The first time I got in the zone was after two years of being a nanny for a white child aged 4 when she looked up at me and said she thought I was ugly and she didn’t like me babysitting her because of my skin. I didn’t enter the zone then. When her father, red-faced, accused me of forcing his daughter to say those things to me, sputtering with righteousness, I entered the zone.
The latest time was after the murder of George Floyd during a board meeting of a large organization. Someone asked me to recount my experiences of racism for everyone to hear. I entered the zone.
It reminds me of what Lama Rod Owens said in an interview about how anger moves one to expansiveness.
Maybe my zone is anger, sadness, fear. I am not sure. I don’t name its qualities because I am simply curious about it. This companion of mine keeps me present and lets me feel my pain. I am thankful for the zone because it cuts through any lies, any denial. It reminds me, “Yes, racism hurts, so gather your strength. You will need to have the same amount of force as the pain inflicted to get over this, and you will need even more strength to overcome it.”