For some of us, the history and stories of race/racism that are filled with oppression and resilience have been a recent journey that’s been embarked upon. For others of us, it was the fabric of your upbringing that was centered around the realities of it all and how your family plays a part in its grander scale. For my own experience as a transracial adoptee, my racial ambiguity has always been subtle drumming in the melody of my unfolding story. In this past week, I was able to pinpoint the lack of words that I’ve been unable to share in regards to racism because it has been messy, confusing, and isolating. I don’t feel like I have the right to take on the stories of the courageous ancestral women who have gone before me. It’s a silent resonance when reading about the heavy burden people of color have had to bear understanding that at face value, I’m found among these stories simply due to my melanin. But can I be honest, that feels like I’m a fraud; that I can look the part but have no real understanding of the culture within BIPOC (Black Indigenous People of Color). I am intentional in seeking out the representation of women of color knowing whether that be in literature or the squares that fill my Instagram feed. To remind my own self that deep in my soul, I am like them. I am powerful, resilient, beautiful, and that magic flows in my veins.
As a transracial adoptee, I have continually felt on the fringe of racial groups with multiple experiences reminding me “I’m not enough (insert race)”. Being a BIPOC, it is a lonely journey of self-acceptance and a deep longing to belong somewhere. When I began to make friends at college, for the first time I was actually in the majority of brown females in our group. I was given the gift of friendship with these amazing multicultural women that were not only empowering, but also brought some much-needed healing in terms of being allowed into the stories of struggle, oppression, and resilience. It was a resounding realization that I am a woman of color and how profound that was to find my tribe in that season.
Even to this day, I ask myself “where are you leaning into more relationships with people of color” or “why aren’t there more people of color in your community”? If I’m honest, I’ve never really known where to begin. When headlines boldly remind me of where we are lacking as a nation in this specific issue of race, it’s quickly overwhelming and daunting for me. There’s significant importance that I sit in that space; gleaning from those around me sharing their stories, gaining more historical background on the issue, and seeking insight on how to be better together.
Not only is this a very personal journey I’m currently undergoing in redefining my race, ethnicities, and life experiences; I’m also looking into how it has shaped me as my own person and influenced my beliefs, values, and opinions. Another layer I am adding is the fact that I’m mothering two beautiful black boys in America. The challenge for me is to be aware but not afraid; for that fear will stunt me in overcoming the mess of it all and in turn, will not give way for my boys to journey this for themselves in mature and healthy ways. I recognize that it’s a continual ebb and flow, a balance of knowing my boys’ worth is never dependent on their appearance and being honest in the fact that its an aspect of society that can and will affect their lives.
As I continue navigating all this, I’m reminded to pursue becoming a more whole, better person. To expand my compassion, kindness, and grace in the roles I play as a daughter, sister, wife, mother, and friend. Most importantly, to be better for the young men I am raising into kind humans. If I want to instill courage into their hearts, I need to exemplify it first hand. If I want my children to have representation in the classroom, I need to educate myself in stories of the ones who are black and brown world-changers and request these stories are within those four walls. If I desire my sons to be inclusive of others, I need to bring more friends of diverse colors and backgrounds into our village. I’m reminded to start with vulnerability in admitting I have much to learn and at the same time asking questions to educate myself.
From the words of Brene Brown, “Our stories of worthiness–of being enough–begin in our first families…what we learn about ourselves and how we learn to engage with the world as children set a course [that will] give us hope, courage, and resilience for our journey.” One thing I know that holds the most importance in raising my black boys are the words I speak over them and into them. Words that hold worth, value, significance, and are truths to describing who they are. I want to continually speak of the ways they gift our community with their strengths and their uniqueness that is irreplaceable, building upon that foundation to propel them into whatever the future holds for them.
Sharday is a wife to one and mom to two residing along the southern coast of California. She is an early riser, daily coffee connoisseur, interior design enthusiast, and lover of all things fall. She is a transracial adoptee who is inviting that voice within to rise up storyteller and desires to champion and advocate for those in this triad community in hopes of adding more leaves and seats to our extended table to hear others stories rise up as well.
