Finally, thank all the ancestors for communing with you and slowly open your eyes. Know that you can call on your ancestors for protection and guidance whenever possible. And I suggest you do so as we move through this work together. You may also wish to leave your ancestors an offering to show them gratitude—whatever feels best and right for you, be it a glass of water or wine or a hot meal. They are with you always and all ways. You are never alone—in this work or in the world.
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For more meditations to support you on your racial justice journey, head to www.rachelricketts.com/meditations.
SIX
Getting Spiritually Activated
Every [humxn] must decide whether [they] will walk in the light of creative altruism or the darkness of destructive selfishness.… Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, “What are you doing for others?”
—MARTIN LUTHER KING JR., STRENGTH TO LOVE
To approach racial justice in a heart-centered and embodied way is no easy feat. It takes courage and constant compassion, which is supported through our soulcare. We all have a shadow side, but white supremacy intentionally encourages us to deny our challenging emotions and ignore discomfort—ours and others’ alike. Consequently, many of us are unable to navigate the most complex, confusing, and critical systems on the planet—ourselves. Luckily, I’ve created five precursors for getting spiritually activated, as I like to call it, in order to engage in authentic, rather than performative, racial justice
These prompts will help you begin the work of caring for your soul by first illuminating what’s there. They have been carefully cultivated based on my work helping thousands of individuals and global companies commit to racial justice, and if you’re ready to dive deep and do the work, then they can help you too. There are reflection questions for each of the prompts, and I suggest setting aside some quiet time to be with yourself, journal, and reflect on your answers—all in one go or over a few days. As I’ve shared, writing using your nondominant hand helps you get into your heart and out of your head, so as always, if it’s available to you, I encourage giving it a try for some or all the prompts.
Remember, this work is trying and often triggering, so take good care before you begin. Light a candle, play some music, burn some incense, or have a hot cup of tea on hand to help support you as you move through. There are soulcare offerings throughout this chapter to help you ground and address whatever may arise from going within.
Please know that if you need to take some time to get through these questions, that is okay. Take care of you, but do get through. These tools are an opportunity for you to get raw and real with yo’self. To crack your chest open and witness all that is there, the good, the bad, and the ugly, so you can start the necessary work of standing in your truth, owning your shit, and healing your heart. Then, and only then, can you authentically commit to the work of racial justice. And make no mistake, this work is urgent. It is necessary. And we need you. You ready?
#1—Embrace Vulnerability
Before we can commit to authentic anti-racism, we need to be willing to embrace ourselves, our transgressions, our experience, our grief, guilt, shame—and all of this requires us to become vulnerable. Vulnerability is the quality or state of being susceptible to physical, mental, or emotional harm, degradation, or destruction. As author Brené Brown shares, it is uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure.1 Vulnerability is a precursor to empathy and essentially every tool required to dismantle white supremacy, such as compassion, ingenuity, and resilience. Embracing vulnerability means trying with the knowing that you may get it wrong. It means dropping your defenses and accepting things as they truly are. It means leaning into your discomfort so you can learn why it’s there and using that information to create deep and meaningful change. Racial justice requires courage, and to get there we first need to tap into the parts of ourselves we most often seek to hide.
Journal prompts:
How have I witnessed vulnerability in myself or others? Do any images, sounds, or sensations come to mind?
What did I learn about vulnerability growing up? Who, if anyone, modeled vulnerability for me?
What prevents me from getting vulnerable? What do I find scary or hard about being vulnerable?
Are there any real threats to my being vulnerable?
How might vulnerability support me in connecting with others and advancing racial justice?
Connecting with our vulnerability is a major challenge in a world that constantly tells us to be anything but. If you can, finding time to practice the art of surrender can help. Find a quiet space alone, take three long breaths, inhaling and exhaling slowly, then repeat this affirmation:
I am ready, able, and willing to get more comfortable with my discomfort. I surrender, I surrender, I surrender.
Feel free to repeat this as needed however and whenever feels good (during breakfast, at the gym, during a meeting, whenever!).
#2—Get Honest
It is impossible to bring about social change if we’re not being true—to ourselves, each other, and the cause. We all comprise light and dark, and both play a vital role. Our shadow side is part of who we are and how we experience the world. It is there to help teach us. For my fellow BI&PoC, let’s get honest about the harms we’ve caused ourselves or other BI&PoC, particularly queer and trans Black and Indigenous women+, by internalizing white supremacy. For white folx, getting honest means owning whatever harms you’ve undoubtedly caused against BI&PoC. All too often white folx exclaim “I didn’t know!” about the realities of racism, anti-Blackness, or anti-Indigeneity, and to that I say bull. Shit. Y’all knew. Consciously or unconsciously, y’all knew, but you need to face yourselves in order to admit it. What’s needed is a serious reality check about our fears, motivations, and actions and how they’ve impacted ourselves and others, most poignantly the most marginalized.
Journal prompts:
When was the last time I was truly honest about something hard? How did that feel?
If I am new to racial justice and anti-oppression work (last few years or less), what took me so long? Why?
If I had to switch places with a (or another) queer or trans Black or Indigenous woman+, would I? Why or why not? What, if any, privileges do I possess that they don’t?
How have I harmed myself and/or others because of white supremacy? How does it make me feel to recognize this truth?
#3—Acknowledge Your Anger
Anger is a strong feeling of displeasure, annoyance, or hostility, often resulting from some way we feel we’ve been treated unkindly or unfairly. This emotion has really gotten a bad rap, but why? All emotions are useful, informative, and show up for a reason. Anger arrives to inform us that something is wrong, something needs to change, or some boundary needs exerting, and that is some seriously important info for us and those around us to have. It is what some choose to do with their anger that has everyone’s undies in a twist.
Make no mistake, Martin Luther King Jr. was angry. And he channeled that anger into a movement. Just because you feel anger does not mean you gotta run around calling everyone an asshole. Anger has and continues to be at the forefront of many leading social justice revolutions, so we need to switch up our perspective on and relationship with this particular feeling. Most of us socialized as women were taught that rage is wrong. We were made to feel ashamed or guilty for expressing ourselves in this way, especially Black women and femmes. This is even more true in the spiritual sense, as many “gurus” teach that you can’t be both spiritual and angry. Well, I say FUCK. THAT. If you aren’t outraged at the injustices in the world then you either don’t care or aren’t paying attention. So, let’s reacquaint ourselves with our good friend anger so we can learn ways to fuel it into positive, progressive change. We’ll dive into this further in Chapter 9, but for now, let’s start getting familiar.
Journal prompts:
Do I feel comfortable expressing my anger? Why or why not?
How have peo
ple in my life responded to my anger? How did that make me feel?
How does it make me feel when others express their anger? Especially Black women+?
When have I witnessed anger expressed in a way that helped fuel collective change? How can I do the same?
Talking about, let alone diving into, our anger can bring up all kinds of ish. We can feel disconnected from our bodies trying to access an emotion many of us have repressed for decades, if not our entire lives. Many of us will find the ego fights us hard on this one, and anxiety can enter the scene at a fierce and rapid pace to distract us from actually accessing our anger. If you feel like things are getting anxious, swirly, or simply too much, inhale through your nose for four long counts, hold your breath for six counts, then slowly exhale out of your mouth for seven counts. Repeat two or more times until you feel grounded.
#4—Have Integrity
Integrity is the personal choice to hold one’s self to consistent standards. There are a lot of performative allies and activists out there, and spiritual bypassing is at an all-time high (we’ll get into all-a-dat in Chapter 8). If you think “love and light supremacy” is going to solve the dis-ease that is racism, you aren’t really doing the work. And if you believe that your “good intentions” make you incapable of causing harm, guess again, friend. I am not (and will never be) down for that shit.
It can be easy to appear to act in allyship, but are your actions aligning with your appearances? Are your teachers’ and mentors’? Are you following, supporting, uplifting, checking in on, learning from/about, paying, and centering Black and Indigenous women+? If not, there’s a disconnect, my sweets. Irrespective of intentions, what we do and say is what has all the value. Impact over intention all the way. As such, we need to focus on our sincerity to this deep and meaningful work by unearthing the heart of the matter, getting intentional with our word and sticking to it.
Journal prompts:
Do my actions align with my intention to fight racial injustice? Do my words?
Do I use spirituality* as a means to defend, deny, or ignore my shadow side and the way it can cause harm in my racial justice efforts?
Why am I addressing my racism or internalized oppression now? If I’m new to this work (i.e., last few years or less), what took me so long?
What am I willing to lose in the name of racial justice? What am I willing to gain?
#5—Acceptance and Action
Authentic anti-racism requires us to act to bring about change whenever and wherever possible. There is much about ourselves, our community, and the world that can change and needs changing. Still, equally important is finding a level of acceptance for all that has and continues to transpire. The actions we did not take. The injustices we have already suffered. Those who have harmed us and the harm we have caused. Acceptance isn’t agreeing with or condoning what has happened. Nor does it mean allowing further transgressions. It means we do our best not to succumb solely to suffering or getting entirely overwhelmed by the thick web of white supremacy. We practice loving kindness toward ourselves for what we did not know or were willfully refusing to acknowledge and we do better. We accept that we cannot fix every single issue in the world and we devote ourselves to doing the best that we can with the most pressing issues.
Folx get tripped up in the “coulda, shoulda, woulda,” and here’s the thing: If you’re practicing authentic anti-racism, you’re going to grow and evolve every day. You’re going to reflect back in a week and think, Dang, I needed to wake up! Feeling guilt, grief, or shame can be part of the process of uncovering your truth and the truth. But if we get stuck there, we won’t keep growing and flowing and engaging in this fight. Accept what needs accepting, and then get the fuck to work.
Journal prompts:
What do I need to accept about myself or my actions?
How can I use my mistakes to create meaningful change?
What can I do to support myself when I feel overwhelmed by all the oppression in my life and/or in the world?
How can I practice more compassion toward myself and others (especially queer and trans Black and Indigenous women+)?
Okay, that was a real reflective task! How did that feel? You’ve come a long way. Exploring inward, unearthing your ish, and beginning to address all that’s there is hard—and it is necessary. Now let’s continue the important work of tending to our hearts.
Spiritual Soulcare Offering
Energy Cleanse
You’ve been diving deep, and chances are you’re feeling the impact not only emotionally and spiritually but mentally and physically. If/when you can, honor yourself with a long shower as a means to help you cleanse and purify your energetic field. The more we lean into our innate state of BEing, the more we can withstand our discomfort and commit to much-needed personal and collective change. This practice can help!
When you’ve finished the prompts above, take a shower and/or imagine the water washing away all that no longer serves you. Perhaps it’s a now outdated identity, harmful situations you’ve experienced or harms you’ve caused others, or fear of embracing your anger. Recall the fear or frustration you named in Chapter 2’s exercise. Call on your ancestors to support you in releasing whatever needs accepting and letting go. Imagine it flowing down the drain. Ask the water to help purify you as you do. If emotions arise, let them surface, release, and be cleansed by the water. Scream if you need. Cry if it feels cathartic.
When you feel complete, let the water pour over the top of your head or your heart space. Imagine the water as healing energy nourishing you with all that you need to embrace your hard truths, acknowledge the pain you’ve caused yourself and others, and commit to helping heal the collective. Repeat whenever you need help letting go.
SEVEN
Unearthing Our Internalized Oppression
The spirit of my ancestors did not manifest themselves in my soulbones to watch me become a convenient place for someone else’s feet.
—NIKITA GILL
I grew up in a city with a beautiful shoreline. There’s a long seawall that wraps its way around the central core, connecting neighborhoods and hosting outdoor activities like running, rowing, and cycling. I don’t run often—though this story makes it sound like I do, which I ain’t mad at—but I did jog said seawall from time to time. Fighting global systems of white supremacy tends to cause me some stress (like, a lot), and one particular morning I arose and decided that getting my run on was that day’s cure. As I laced up my sneakers, I was deliberating over where I wanted to run. Should I head to the seawall like I usually do or switch it up? I decided to spice up my life and run around the neighborhood I lived in at the time. I jogged down my street, turned left, and ran up the next. As I did, I noticed the predominantly white folx passing me by as they made their way to work. As I had the majority of my life, I lived in a predominantly white neighborhood. A nice one, full of heritage homes and green space. Seeing nothing but white faces pass me by was a real regular occurrence. But on this morning, I noticed something else. Something awful. I realized that as I ran I was doing so in a way to appease white comfort. Though I wanted to roam freely up and down the same streets to peep the beautiful homes and gardens in my hood, I wouldn’t dare. I knew all too well that the white folx in my surroundings would be alarmed by a Black woman running aimlessly on their block. I could see it on the white and other non-Black faces of those who passed me by, and I could envision the folx in their cushy homes getting concerned. Instead of running where and how I wished, I ensured I appeared as though I was running “with purpose” to some final destination. I ran each street paying careful mind not to seem as though I was lost, directionless, or scoping the scene to steal. I was out on a run to relieve my stress and support my physical and emotional well-being, yet I was being assaulted by the woes of white supremacy telling me I was suspect and didn’t belong in my own backyard.
As my own behaviors came to light, I felt disgust. I stopped my run and reflected on the truth: that I ha
d been doing this my entire life—over thirty years at that point. I began to wonder how many other ways white supremacy had reared its ugly head inside of mine. How often had I moved through the world in a way that prioritized white folx and the comfort of whiteness to the detriment of my own? Probably a lot. This is how internalized race-based oppression works—causing myself and other folx of color to internalize negative ideologies about ourselves and other BI&PoC (especially Black and Indigenous women+) and prioritize the comfort and well-being of whiteness. But make no mistake, we don’t make this shit up. Internalized oppression is rooted in very real lived and felt experiences. A few weeks prior to my jogging awakening, I had been on a run on the seawall (told you it sounds like I run a lot!). Like I said, I lived in a super white community, so being near Black people was always a cause for celebration. On this run I ran by my Nigerian friend Udokam, as well as a tall Black man a few blocks later. I made a post about it when I got home, because never in my Vancouver life had I seen two other Black people running when I was. It was a good day. After I posted, Udokam informed me that the Black man I saw was a friend of hers, and shortly after I passed him he was stopped by a white person “concerned” that he was lost. The racist assumption is, of course, that a Black person couldn’t possibly live in a nice neighborhood or go for a fucking run like the thousands of other non-Black folx in the area. The result is a constant conditioning in Black folx to internalize that oppression within and among ourselves. This story has taken on a whole new meaning in light of the murder of Ahmaud Arbery, who was shot by white men for doing precisely as I, Udokam, and her friend had done—running while Black.
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