The Unending Exhaustion of Being Black

We’re Tired.

These are trying times.

The past few weeks have been physically and mentally exhausting, particularly for Black people. The sickening video of George Floyd being killed by the Minneapolis police was too much for many of us to bear. There he was, the police officer’s knee to his neck, the officer’s hands in pockets, a look of casual indifference on his face, all while a man’s life slowly drained from his body as iPhones recorded and strangers watched.

The video that went around the world and galvanized previously-uninterested folks has kickstarted a movement that has made otherwise complacent people sit up and take notice.

And that’s a good thing. I won’t complain. Know better, do better.

But — for us Black folks — it’s also exhausting.

The check-ins from White friends, the kind words and DMs and (in some cases) newfound concern are appreciated but nevertheless, even responding is tiring. So much so that I had to take a couple of days off social media and online viewing altogether, just for my own mental health. The fatigue was palpable and debilitating.

The exhaustion is never-ending

It’s never-ending, the exhaustion.

Each video, each story, each day, hearing about yet another Black person killed, brutalized, ignored, discriminated against, belittled, mocked and more adds to the fatigue. It’s death by a thousand cuts, with never enough band-aids that could cover the ongoing wounds that keep appearing.

Each video, each story, each day, hearing about yet another Black person killed, brutalized, or discriminated against is a newfound pain. It’s death by a thousand cuts, with never enough band-aids that could cover the ongoing wounds that keep appearing.

No one would expect a continually open wound to heal, yet that is what is often asked of Black folks within the context of discussing racism and oppression.

“Why can’t they just get over it?”

“What’s the big deal?”

“Why do you always have to talk about race?”

These are just some of the questions that are asked by those who are in a position to make a choice: a choice about whether or not they want to deal with race on any given day. Such choices are not an option for those in Black bodies. We must address the wrongs that are inflicted upon us as a result of our skin colour. And while we are committed to confronting racism each and every time it appears, no one said it would be easy. I love my Black skin; I hate the vitriol that it evokes from those who don’t feel the same way.

It’s a Daily Struggle

Many of us have become accustomed to daily micro-aggressions and subtle acts of racism that are part and parcel of Black life. The backhanded compliments; the disrespect inherent in yet another request along the lines of “can I touch your hair?” The comments about how “articulate” we may be, as if it’s an unexpected and welcome surprise to the commenter.

And then there are the boardroom slap-downs — figuratively, of course; the unwavering eyes that follow us through the most mundane of places: the grocery store; the bank; the mall. The keen interest of our every move which, in their eyes, is certainly going to end in criminality.

All of these regularly occurring events that we know will go on until our dying days result in a fatigue that cannot be explained. An exhaustion that can only be understood by those who have also walked in a skin that is both at once reviled and rejected.

Our exhaustion can only be understood by those who have also walked in a skin that is both at once reviled and rejected.

The resulting effect of a lifetime of trauma can’t be surprising to those who have the privilege of not having to think about race. Oh, what a luxury that would be. Even having one day off from the stark reality of being Black in this world — a world that demands a life of constantly fighting back against the voices and actions of those who choose to disregard one’s humanity.

But this isn’t an option. Skin colour isn’t returnable. It is what it is — for a lifetime.

As a result we soldier on, with the knowledge that there is no panacea for a chastened spirit and a weakened soul.

I’m tired. So very, very tired.