My heart is heavy and I am afraid, yet I am not the one who must fear for the life of her husband and sons because of the color of their skin.
I am sad and I am angry, yet people who look like me are not the ones who are still experiencing the lethal effects of systemic racism.
My sons, ages 20, 18 and 15, are outraged and devastated, incredulous and indignant, questioning and searching, while they understand fully that they are in positions of privilege due to our societal advantage of having lower dermal melanin levels than others.
My husband is distressed and discouraged, though he knows that he and I and our sons could not have anywhere near the level of distress of those with darker skin.
We are not currently the targets here, but this is our fight. It is our fight because we are human. Because this is our country. Because we all need to be better than this. Because people are dying.
Because I am a doctor, this is specifically my fight. I chose to go into medicine because I want to help people. I want to help keep them from getting sick or injured, to help heal them when they do become sick or injured, and to help ease their pain and suffering whether or not they can be healed.
People are being hurt and I need to help.
The best way I know how to help here is to speak and to write. I have listened and read, and now I am ready to talk. In my next post, I have a story to tell.