Don't Tell Me How to Grieve: as told by a Weary Black Woman


I wake up.


I read a George Floyd article on CNN;

I read Habbukuk 1;

I get down on my knees;

I pray.


For my Dad;

Boyfriend;

Uncles;

Cousins;

Friends;

Family;

Families.


I pray for the families of countless Black men and women and children who lived and loved and lost their lives to a system designed to dismantle them.


Us.


I get on Instagram and scroll through countless:


Images of a white police officer with his knee pinned on the neck of a detained Black man --

George Floyd.

Footage of fists and signs raised in the streets of Minneapolis and Detroit and Chicago and LA in honor of

George Floyd.

Screenshots of tweets from the "president" calling our people "thugs" for taking a stand in the name of

George Floyd.

Posts on top of posts on top of posts of yet another Black man turned hashtag:

#GeorgeFloyd.


I log out of Instagram and check the 247 unread messages from my linesister group chat. I scroll through the same clips and images and posts and emotions I just collected from IG.


This shit is too much.


I feel heavy.

Overwhelmed.

Numb.

Nauseous.

Anxious.

Angry.

Hateful.

Helpless.

Weary.


I'm tired of people who look like me getting killed for looking like me.


I'm tired of seeing the media convict innocent Black men of crimes they didn't commit.


I'm tired of this country denying that white supremacy still exists.


I'm tired of going to work and pretending like none of this shit affects me.


I'm tired of arguing with ignoramuses on social media.


I'm tired of having to justify my humanity.


I'm tired of having to remind people that Black Lives Matter.


I'm tired of seeing, posting and living this shit.


I. Am. Tired.


So please forgive me if I don't feel like:


Posting on social media today;

Or watching the news;

Or protesting;

Or talking.


Forgive me if my response is not like yours, or to your liking.


You can feel how you feel;

We can agree to disagree;

But please, don't tell me how to grieve.


You may not see it, but I am grieving.

I am hurting;

I am crying;

I am processing.


I am trying to process why this shit keeps happening to my people.

I am trying to stay sane.


And I am praying that this never happens to my Father;

Boyfriend;

Uncles;

Cousins;

Friends;

Family.


Me.