The Burden of Blackness


Can I be brutally honest? These past few weeks have had me in the lowest place of my life. First, the pandemic hit, it is still here by the way so let’s not be fooled by your favorite restaurant or even your job opening up. There has not been one day where the number of new cases nationally have halted, so don’t be deceived. Then on the heels of that crisis, the tumor of racism has erupted. After most if not all of us saw the video of a man’s life slowly drain away for 8 minutes, as another man put his entire body weight on his neck, by kneeling on it.

For me, the video viewed from many angles felt like a mental and emotional assault on humanity. Transported back to the past, I wondered how could white folks gather to watch lynchings? Families dressed up in their Sunday Best to spectate life draining away from a living soul. In the present, I worried about my husband’s safety and my two sons that are growing up in America. I could not understand why? I began drowning in a dark sea of questions.

  • Why are black people the most hated people in so many parts of the world?
  • Why is it open season on black and brown lives?
  • From lynching, to police brutality to ordinary civilians chasing an unarmed man jogging in his neighborhood, how are their deaths so normalized?
  • Why are some white folks so barbaric, when they see black skin with their eyes?

  • Why does it seem there is a mission to stop our breaths?
  • Why is there a prevailing perception that black men are a threat?
  • Why continue to crush spirits, emotions, and body and marginalize the divinity in them?
  • Why is society continuing to hold on to that lying narrative from slavery?
  • The one that says black men are a danger to America.

  • Why does rancor for different darker skin tones so deeply consume some people?
  • How can people find pleasure from hanging other humans by the neck?
  • Why the constant utter disrespect?
  • Why does spraying teens and men with bullets not bothersome?
  • What message are you sending from all this ongoing violence?

  • Do you expect to continue to harm us, alienate us, and we not feel, fear, and react to your rejection?
  • How would you feel if your sons and men were treated less than humans?
  • Why don’t you realize the breath of life has no color?
  • Why do you want us to be docile, while you are volatile?
  • What’s so wrong with being us?
  • Can’t you see the trauma that this is causing us?
  • Can’t you see the toll this is taking on 47 plus million of us?
  • Can you for heaven’s sake stop hunting, belittling and mentally and physically abusing us?
  • Why do I say us you ask. Those black men and boys are connected to us.

All these questions kept me praying and crying, praying, and crying. I kept breaking down in the house because my mind could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. Traumatize, can’t eat, scared this behemoth problem to me, doesn’t matter for far too many people.

My mind felt the assault, even before I knew his name. How easily could that guy laying on the pavement be my dearly beloved husband or the babies I gave birth to? My soul grew weary. Why are black folks less human because of our skin tone? My heart. Felt. Heavy. For our men are easy targets in a very strange hunting game. How can all humans not feel the terror of that? My spirit grew tired for the inequities that still prevail today– working for less pay– overlooked for advancement. Unnecessary stress like knees on their necks. Suffering through verbal and mental abuse–like in the past white people calling them boys when they’re grown, men. The physical abuse and incarceration, like living in a warzone in your own home, it’s no wonder so many suffer from high blood pressure. Everything just mounted, all the odds against our brilliantly talented kings. The weight of being a black male in America burdened me.

So I cried some more. I didn’t want to hear from anyone. No speech. No analysis. No sermon. Living race is exhausting. A day in the life of a black boy or man in the USA, not many could survive. It’s PTSD daily. Yet still, we rise.

White folks, what you don’t see if you don’t live with a black man or have one as a close friend is that they are our children’s heroes.

You don’t see that they love their women deeply, and will do whatever it takes to protect us. They are our partners, a firm foundation and their loving arms is a safe place for us. We see them laugh, act silly, cook, and care. We also see them get frustrated because they’re not supposed to cry.

When we get discouraged our men, cheer us to take on the impossible. For example, while giving birth my husband’s voice is the only constant that gave me the strength to endure the pain and push. We’ve seen their strengths and their humanness. The weight of the world is sometimes such a yoke on their necks. These men, the cornerstone of our families, are really important to us. We shouldn’t have to worry about them facing untimely, senseless deaths.

The fighters for civil rights in this country dear to dream of a day different from the one they lived in. A day when they were not just colored, separate, or a servant. Where color doesn’t make them less human, second class, or possessions.


I’ve started meditating, as a mental time out of all this assault. Some days the meditation helped me let the pain out instead of keeping it in. When I hear white people talk about being shocked at the sight of a black reporter getting arrested on national TV, I broke down again, because I’m thinking, you don’t get it! It’s not unusual in our shoes to be misjudged, arrested, and even killed, our crime our skin. I meditated some more to lift myself from my pool of tears and from taking myself out of fight mode. I still had to be a mama. I still had to be a worker. I still had to be my hubby’s queen. But I was a mess. The joy capsule in the house was in mourning. Black people are in flight or fight mode, getting killed and beaten, suffering trauma from watching it over and over again, but expected not to fight. The meditation helped temporarily but my soul hurt so deeply. During the pandemic, my friend Jo created this animation to demonstrate how meditation and deep breathing can help to release the negative emotions. It’s inspiring.

My sister shared some exercises, by text that helped her and have helped me during times of anxiety.

On the morning of June 3rd, I woke up weary and decided to meditate using the Encounter podcast. As I meditated, I had a vision of myself standing at the seashore. Facing the sea, a mighty, growing wave of everything assaulting my mind and spirit charged towards me. Raging fear, racism, and destruction, but then I saw God standing between me and this mounting tsunami. I did not see a person but water in the shape of a human form. He faced me and His back was turned to the vicious wave of hate. Then He shouted in a loud voice. 


The verse below immediately came to mind and I just started weeping.

As I wept, the vision continued… the rushing wave stopped in its tracks and suddenly fell flat like gravity began pulling it down. It broke up into droplets and crashed behind God’s back. He stood still a firm foundation. I opened my two hands, turned up my palms, and released the protection of my boys and my husband into the care of the Almighty. I gave him my burden for a race marginalized. I exchanged my fear for His peace. I let it ALLLLL go. And I wept.
When I got myself together, I started reading the full passage and found this beautiful promise.

In exchange, I now grab hold of HOPE and I challenge you to do the same. Put your hope in God with me that there is light coming to shine in this darkness. Instead of dwelling on the evil past, I pray you will look towards a new horizon. I hope that not one male in your family will die of violent brutality. I hope that racism will be eradicated out of the fabric of this country! If we don’t hope, we will be miserable. However, if we hope in God, we will never be disappointed. Together let’s hope that conscious and unconscious racism will be annihilated for good. Can you see it? Hope and trust God that black people in this country will no longer feel like second class citizens. Join your hope with mine for unity! For everyone who left their country willingly for a better life, let’s hope they will no longer face hurdles of systemic blockages. For the descendants of blacks transplanted here may they no longer feel like a stranger but finally feel like this place is their home.

i do not own the rights to this song

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Enter the NO DangerZone

Published by T. Marie

Protagonist. Diplomat. Conceptual. T. Marie at the core is a connector. She connects women to their purpose, so that they can influence the world. In this blog she writes to share her faith, and failures, hope and resilience, just simple inspiration to win in life.

8 thoughts on “The Burden of Blackness

  1. I can see your vision is coming through!👍 We all are feeling the pain of our black and brown sisters and brothers ! God timing is the right time 🙏🏾🙏🏾

  2. Very truthful and sad Tina. We only have to hope that God will continue to shield and protect your family

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