I am not accustomed to uncomfortable conversations. I grew up in a household where I was told to shut up and listen, and made to feel ashamed when I did speak up. I learned to keep my anger and discontent in until you couldn’t see it anymore, or until it exploded. I went into a profession that constantly reminds me not to have my own voice, lest a student tell their parent, and that parent complains, and my administration has to face their own uncomfortable conversation. ⠀
.⠀
.⠀ I am learning to have uncomfortable conversations now. ⠀
.⠀
.⠀ My defense system for years has been to run at the first step of the uncomfortable conversation: the most heated, the most defensive, the place where we both see that this person we care about does not reflect our same values. Last week as I entered into some tough conversations about race and privilege, I thought deeply about the root of my anxiety when it comes to these conversations. It was the fear of losing this person, and the uncertainty of how they will receive me when I am being vulnerable and sharing my values. My body’s fight-or-flight response activates, and it manifests as hurt and anger. Allowing myself to acknowledge this helped me move further and deeper in this conversation. ⠀
.⠀
.⠀ This image is not meant to be a how-to or an infographic. It is a reflection of how my uncomfortable conversations went because it is so new to me. At moments of high tension, I was able to feel calmer not by running away from the conversation, but by pausing, reflecting, listening, and continuing. Pause, breathe, think, listen, talk, repeat. We both had to know when to be humble and concede, and when to stand strong because the value was too important. But listening and establishing an environment that felt *safe* to continue talking about something so personal as core values made all the difference. ⠀
.⠀
.⠀ I’m sharing this because this is new to me. And maybe it’s new to you, too. We’re starting a new week, and I hope it brings with it healthy conversations that help our families and communities move forward. A few footnotes in the comments below:
My heart hurts from this week, and I feel frustrated and powerless. -- So I’m going to do what I know best: be an English teacher, write, and write their names in pretty letters. George Floyd. Breonna Taylor. Ahmaud Arbery. -- Let me share a powerful paragraph from MLK’s Letter from Birmingham Jail. (Swipe to view) Look at sentence 4. My students have a hard time understanding how to explain the effect of syntax (sentence structure), but this is a moment where the power is clear. Sentence 4 is massive. And look at what it is showing. Between every semicolon, you see an injustice, a reality of Black life. The power in the syntax here is that it is all shown in one sentence. It piles and piles and piles on you until you run out of breath from just reading that one sentence out loud because it is TOO MUCH. Writers often surround such long sentences with shorter ones that act to deliver a sharper message, a more direct statement of beliefs or call to action. Sentence 5 is a much shorter one, stating that “the cup of endurance runs over.” A common cry against the protests and marches of the Civil Rights movement was that people should just *wait*--wait for the system to work itself out, wait for people to gradually change their minds… and this is a powerful moment in MLK’s letter where he shows why he cannot wait. -- So let me do my English teacher thing and ask you to think on that. Reflect on it. Write about it. Talk about it. Think about how much we still see this in America--57 years later. Sit in that feeling of being uncomfortable. Because it *is* unsettling. And accepting that uncomfortable feeling is where growth and learning starts. -- #blacklivesmatter #georgefloyd #breonnataylor #ahmaudarbery
