This came across my Instagram last month and it struck me. Made me stop what I was doing and just think. Think about who I am. Think about how I think about myself. How I judge myself for the way I look. I’m 57 years old. I’m aging, it’s hard. Things don’t bounce back the way they used to. I have wrinkles where I once didn’t. My love handles have shifted over the past decade. My neck sags a bit more than it did last year, and the year before. But, I know my eyes smile and my heart is big, and I am kind to others, so I can be kind to myself.
And over the past couple weeks these words have taken on a whole new meaning. As a white woman, my skin color never even entered my thoughts a month ago. I never thought one way or the other about how I look in relation to my whiteness. That’s white privilege. I’ve never looked in the mirror and felt different because of my skin color. That’s white privilege.
I owe it to myself to do everything I can to love myself for who I am inside, and I owe it to every person of color to fight for their right to do the same. I definitely have my brand of politics, which grows out of my heart, not my pocket book, that’s just how I was made, but I have sat by for the past 50 years and watched our country subjugate black people, mistreat all people of color. I can’t do it anymore. By not doing anything, I’ve been part of the problem. I won’t be part of the problem any longer.