Being a minority has made me stronger. My wounds run deep and as of a year ago, starting to heal. I never talked about my racial issues or the attacks I’ve received with anyone really until I moved to Knoxville. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling was valid, or if I even had the words for it. All I knew was anger, confusion, and shame. I mean, my family being from Uganda, born in America, going to a predominantly white school, having mostly white friends... Not African enough, not black enough and obviously not white enough.
Now because of my social character, making friends wasn’t hard, but fitting in was. I mean FULLY fitting in. Lovey in crowded room, but never really FULLY expressing myself. I think I got “the race talk” in second grade. I found myself doing extra to make someone feel comfortable. However the more I buried my hurts and my wounds, the harder it became. I LOVED my friends, but I didn’t know how to tell my white friends how I felt; they don’t know the struggles. Not that I’d wish it upon anyone... now I see God loves my skin, and doesn’t need me to “be black” when it’s convenient or live under the labels that make people feel good. He will fight for ALL people.
The labels that have caused some type of disadvantage are: I am a first generation African American, a child of divorce, single, a woman who is now living in the south, so I’m decently low on the scale of what culture would call #winning. The way this country was set up, I’m not supposed to make it; but Christ beat death for me, therefore I win too. So I wear my disadvantages proudly, so people can see how big my God is and watch Him show up. No, I don't always wake up with this mood, but once I believe in this truth, there’s no stopping me.
