It’s hard to teach a trauma course. I know about a lot of trauma, personally and professionally, but it’s intimidating to teach about trauma that I’ll never fully understand. Like racialized trauma.
I don’t know what it’s like to live in a world or country where people who look like I do are in danger.
Who aren’t believed.
Who are looked at with disdain.
Who are assumed to be guilty, even when proven innocent.
I don’t carry that trauma in my body.
But sometimes I feel like I carry some of the grief.
And I can access that loss of safety
Of lightheartedness
Feeling like your life isn’t valued.
I have some concept of that weight
Though I recognize
I’m nowhere near as crushed by it
From my stance of privilege
It’s like viewing a war
Through an impenetrable window
You see pain from your seat of safety
Sometimes you may not even think you have the option to go out
No latches on the window are visible
But they’re there.
I try to have courage to climb out and help.
Eternal Ocean of Words 