Sandwich Generation Life: Black Girl Style
A few days ago, my mom called. In a worried voice, she recounted a story she had read on social media, “I saw something that said that Black people have different symptoms of Coronavirus than White people.” As soon as she finished the sentence, I felt a weight on me - an overwhelming emotional heaviness. I sat with that weight for hours, maybe even all day. The concern in my mom’s voice was clear. But even more than that, the idea that my people had yet another reason to be vigilant was too much to bear in that moment.
Truth is, I didn’t even know if this story was true. It sounded pretty ridiculous to me. Why would we have different symptoms than others? But on the other hand, what if we did? We are already dying of COVID-19 out of proportion to White Americans. Was this just another nail in our coffin? I just wanted to think about plain old average COVID-19. I didn’t want to be plagued with having to know about the special version of COVID-19 that was coming only for us.
I was already feeling the enormous weight of health disparities. The significant media coverage of the impact of COVID-19 on the African American community was only making me think about all the things that were plaguing us: diabetes, heart disease, HIV/ AIDS, Cancer, pregnancy, being born....These are the daily disparities that predated Coronavirus, and unfortunately, these same disparities will persist well after the media hype about Coronavirus is gone.
The weight I felt after this conversation with my mom reminded me of another moment. Last year, one of my daughter’s fourth grade teachers decided to teach about slavery in the form of a board game. When I first heard the story, I ignored it. I imagined it to be an overstatement, maybe something I could just shake my head about, and move on. But when I read the full story, my fears were realized. The game used phrases like, “If you run, you will be punished severely.” A heaviness overcame me. I was overwhelmed by the massive responsibility incumbent upon me. I knew that I had to act. I had to say something to make sure the teachers, school leaders, and school board members understood just how wrong this was. I had to do it even if no one else was willing. Yet, I was well aware that whatever action I took would further ostracize me in this majority White school system, where my family and I were already zebras. I had to stand up. I had no choice.
The balancing act of caring for children and keeping an eye on aging parents is difficult for so many women. Yet, once you add being Black in America to the equation, the challenge sometimes feels impossible. I have no doubt that the impossibility of it all and the resulting stress have everything to do with why our health suffers in the first place. The popular public health dogma that gets recounted over and over is that we are sick due to our food desserts and lack of healthy places to exercise in our communities. Yet, I can tell you that the day I watched the Ahmad Aubrey video, I abandoned my daily walk in my beautiful “safe” neighborhood. I was now scared to walk in my own neighborhood. Other simple decisions like choosing a school for my daughter are also burdened with concern about race.
Despite the various challenges, I do not feel the heaviness often. When it does overtake me, I am aware. I am even able to identify the source of this feeling. I feel it, explore it and move on. I put one foot in front of the other and accept the richness and the rigor that defines being Black in America.
