MY STORY
MY STORY
Childhood Confusion
My parents, who came of age in the 1960s, believed in telling my brother and I the truth about the world. They trusted us to think for ourselves and come to our own conclusions.
As so, when I asked my mom why my new friend in kindergarten was the only one with dark skin in my class, she explained our country’s history of slavery.
‘What?!’
Silence
‘That actually happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘Human beings did that to each other?’
‘Yes.’
‘How could anyone let that happen?’
‘It was normal at the time.’
‘What?!!’
I think all kids want to know how anyone could have let that happen, and “it was normal at the time,” doesn’t cut it. That response didn’t align with anything I had been taught about how to be a decent human being.
What I remember holding onto from that conversation with my mom — the only thing that made any sense to me — was when she said, later, that those of us who have more in this world have a responsibility to give back.
Childhood Confusion
My parents, who came of age in the 1960s, believed in telling my brother and I the truth about the world. They trusted us to think for ourselves and come to our own conclusions. As so, when I asked my mom why my new friend in kindergarten was the only one with dark skin in my class, she explained our country’s history of slavery.
‘What?!’
Silence
‘That actually happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘Human beings did that to each other?’
‘Yes.’
‘How could anyone let that happen?’
‘It was normal at the time.’
‘What?!!’
I think all kids want to know how anyone could have let that happen, and “it was normal at the time,” doesn’t cut it. That response didn’t align with anything I had been taught about how to be a decent human being.
What I remember holding onto from that conversation with my mom — the only thing that made any sense to me — was when she said, later, that those of us who have more in this world have a responsibility to give back.
Giving Back
Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I was pretty determined to “give back.” My family wasn’t wealthy, and while my parents often struggled to make ends meet, I lived in a predominately white suburb where my safety wasn’t at risk. I could count on my teachers to assume I was trying my best most of the time, and I knew I would go to college. Compared to much of the country, that’s a lot of privilege.
As a teenager, I sought out opportunities to participate in community service and traveled multiple times to Tijuana, Mexico, with a local nonprofit that involved youth in community development, consciousness-raising trips. Eventually, though, I became uncomfortable with the role my own government had in perpetuating poverty in Mexico by paying Mexicans low wages for making North American clothes and building North American weapons. If my country paid people a fair wage to start with, I wouldn’t need to be there.
I became even more determined to work in my own community on the root causes of injustice, rather than focusing on service abroad.
Giving Back
Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I was pretty determined to “give back.” My family wasn’t wealthy, and while my parents often struggled to make ends meet, I lived in a predominately white suburb where my safety wasn’t at risk. I could count on my teachers to assume I was trying my best most of the time, and I knew I would go to college. Compared to much of the country, that’s a lot of privilege.
As a teenager, I sought out opportunities to participate in community service and traveled multiple times to Tijuana, Mexico, with a local nonprofit that involved youth in community development, consciousness-raising trips. Eventually, though, I became uncomfortable with the role my own government had in perpetuating the poverty in Mexico; the low wages offered by American companies for making our clothes and building our weapons, keeping people from improving their livelihoods.
I became even more determined to work in my own community on the root causes of injustice, rather than focusing on service abroad.
Getting Called Out
As a young adult, back at home in the Bay Area, I had the chance to work at an intentionally racially mixed residential summer camp. A large portion of the kids came to camp on a scholarship and represented African-American, Latinx, Native American, and Asian American communities, as well as a large portion of kids from progressive white families.
One of my co-counselors, a mixed race African American woman, told me she guessed the only reason I was working at this camp was because of my “white guilt.” I didn’t know at the time what she meant, but I could feel a sharpness — and a deep rage — underneath her question. I will admit that, at the time, it felt like an accusation. And maybe it was.
Like a lot of white people, especially the first time getting called out, I felt defensive and confused. Luckily, I got access to resources and context from mentors and was able to begin to appreciate the legacy of harm in this country that contributed to her rage. The experience increased my resolve to act responsibly given my privilege. It felt like starting over. The things that had come so naturally — being of service or working with underserved kids — no longer felt like enough.
Getting Called Out
As a young adult, back at home in the Bay Area, I had the chance to work at an intentionally racially mixed residential summer camp. A large portion of the kids came to camp on a scholarship and represented African-American, Latino, Native American, and Asian communities, as well as a large portion of kids from progressive white families.
One of my co-counselors, a mixed race African American woman, told me she guessed the only reason I was working at this camp was because of my “white guilt.” I didn’t know at the time what she meant, but I could feel a sharpness — and a deep anger — underneath her question. I will admit that, at the time, it felt like an accusation. And maybe it was.
Like a lot of white people, especially the first time getting called out, I felt defensive and confused. Luckily, I got access to resources and context from mentors and was able to begin to appreciate the legacy of harm in this country that contributed to her anger. The experience increased my resolve to act responsibly given my privilege. It felt like starting over. The things that had come so naturally — being of service or working with underserved kids — no longer felt like enough.
Exploring my Roots
So, what does it really mean to be white? In my deepest, most vulnerable place inside, I wondered, “is there something essentially ‘wrong’ with me as a white person?” I began to feel contempt for my whiteness and for what whiteness represented and wanted no part of it.
It was during this time that I decided to travel abroad to Spain, where my great grandparents on my father’s side are from. While searching from some hidden (less white) part of my identity in Spain, I discovered I was profoundly North American. I missed the diversity, thirst for innovation, and creativity that I grew up with in Bay. I loved the Spanish people: their laughter, story-telling, and ability to live in the moment. But at the end of the day, I wasn’t Spanish. I recognized that I wanted to be part of the American story — part of the legacy and hopefully future — of resistance and insistence on liberation.
I did learn Spanish fluently and met the man who is now my husband in Spain, who immigrated here to the Bay to be together. We have continued to navigate and build a cross cultural, bi-lingual, bi-national relationship and family, with two teenage children in whom we nurture a bi-cultural identity.
Exploring my Roots
So, what does it really mean to be white? In my deepest, most vulnerable place inside, I wondered, “is there something essentially ‘wrong’ with me as a white person?” I began to feel contempt for my whiteness and for what whiteness represented and wanted no part of it.
It was during this time that I decided to travel abroad to Spain, where my great grandparents on my father’s side are from. While searching from some hidden (less white) part of my identity in Spain, I discovered I was profoundly North American. I missed the diversity, thirst for innovation, and creativity that I grew up with in Bay. I loved the Spanish people: their laughter, story-telling, and ability to live in the moment. But at the end of the day, I wasn’t Spanish. I recognized that I wanted to be part of the American story — part of the legacy and hopefully future — of resistance and insistence on liberation.
I did learn Spanish fluently and met the man who is now my husband in Spain, who immigrated here to the Bay to be together. We have continued to navigate and build a cross cultural, bi-lingual, bi-national relationship and family, with two teenage children in whom we nurture a bi-cultural identity.
Trying to Get it Right
As a young professional, I entered the nonprofit sector, and used my facilitation, teaching, and planning skills in a variety of jobs. Because of my strong bi-lingual skills, I had an opportunity early on to work across race and culture building power in immigrant communities and seeking structural change in public systems like schools and health centers.
I called this phase “getting it right,” which you can imagine pretty much equals losing yourself. I did some great work during this phase of my career, but this period was marked by a lot of performance and not a lot of flow. Over time, my work became over-professionalized. I relied on power analysis, conceptual models, the language of anti-oppression, and data to move towards addressing root causes of racialized outcomes.
But was it enough? Was any of it really having an impact? As I moved up into more influential coaching and consulting positions, I also wondered why there weren’t more coaches of color. Why was I — the white person — being called in as the “expert” to help this community? It didn’t feel right. And yet, there were also times where, as a woman, I felt under-estimated, held back by my commitments at home, and overly criticized for my ambition. While my career was outwardly “successful,” inside I still had an awful lot of questions.
Trying to Get it Right
As a young professional, I entered the nonprofit sector, and used my facilitation, teaching, and planning skills in a variety of jobs. Because of my strong bi-lingual skills, I had an opportunity early on to work across race and culture building power in immigrant communities and seeking structural change in public systems like schools and health centers.
I called this phase “getting it right,” which you can imagine pretty much equals losing yourself. I did some great work during this phase of my career, but this period was marked by a lot of performance and not a lot of flow. Over time, my work became over-professionalized. I relied on power analysis, conceptual models, the language of anti-oppression, and data to move towards addressing root causes of racialized outcomes.
But was it enough? Was any of it really having an impact? As I moved up into more influential coaching and consulting positions, I also wondered why there weren’t more coaches of color. Why was I — the white person — being called in as the “expert” to help this community? It didn’t feel right. And yet, there were also times where, as a woman, I felt under-estimated, held back by my commitments at home, and overly criticized for my ambition. While my career was outwardly “successful,” inside I still had an awful lot of questions.
Courage and Humility
Through my training as a coach, one of the many things I discovered about myself was that part of me was protecting myself from ever getting “called out” on my white privilege, and that this had stymied my growth. Another key learning was that divorcing myself from my own needs, particularly as a woman but also just as a person, doesn’t serve the movement.
If I am constantly bracing myself against potential embarrassment or trying to prove my “worth” as a white ally, I will never find my own true voice, which is what our social justice movements and organizations need.
We need authentic, empowered, passionate, fired up beings, ready to take a stand for systemic change in our policies, institutions, public spaces, and between us as human beings living in community, who too much of the time still live too separated from one another.
I began to let more of myself be seen, found ways to step outside the “professional” safety of my teacher/coach/facilitator role, and shared more of my story.
I began to see making mistakes as opportunities to acknowledge rather than explain, which I found to be transformative.
I began to take responsibility for working with other white people, both as a compassionate champion, as well as a disrupter of implicit superiority of whiteness assumed to be the norm.
Today, through leadership programs, one on one coaching, and partnering with social change organizations, I support leaders and teams to do personal and collective healing and transformation, so we can access our collective power to shift the tide of this country towards justice and liberation.
Courage and Humility
Through my training as a coach, one of the many things I discovered about myself was that part of me was protecting myself from ever getting “called out” on my white privilege, and that this had stymied my growth. Another key learning was that divorcing myself from my own needs, particularly as a woman but also just as a person, doesn’t serve the movement.
If I am constantly bracing myself against potential embarrassment or trying to prove my “worth” as a white ally, I will never find my own true voice, which is what our social justice movements and organizations need.
We need authentic, empowered, passionate, fired up beings, ready to take a stand for systemic change in our policies, institutions, public spaces, and between us as human beings living in community, who too much of the time still live too separated from one another.
I began to let more of myself be seen, found ways to step outside the “professional” safety of my teacher/coach/facilitator role, and shared more of my story.
I began to see making mistakes as opportunities to acknowledge rather than explain, which I found to be transformative.
I began to take responsibility for working with other white people, both as a compassionate champion, as well as a disrupter of implicit superiority of whiteness assumed to be the norm.
Today, through leadership programs, one on one coaching, and partnering with social change organizations, I support leaders and teams to do personal and collective healing and transformation, so we can access our collective power to shift the tide of this country towards justice and liberation.