My therapist used to tell me that our experiences live in our cells.
My therapist is right about a lot of things.
When I was a little, I went on an evening walk with my Mom. This memory is strong for me because it was super unusual. As a woman who worked tirelessly on so many levels with my Dad--both in business and as parents of 7 children--free, flexible time was a rarity. The walk was idyllic. Though our means were meager, somehow my parents landed our family residence in Belmont, an affluent Boston suburb. That evening, as my Mom and I wound our way up Common Street, I felt happy. I remember running my fingers along the top of the stone walls bordering one of the immaculately manicured lawns that fronted one of many grand, perfectly appointed homes. It smelled like spring. Everything was so pretty. My Mom and I were experiencing a brief, calm departure from the typical chaos and stress that ensued in our household.
And then suddenly, I heard voices yelling and felt something hit me on the back of the head. Cold liquid ran down my back. Confused, I looked up to see a group of teenage boys zooming past us, hanging out their car window screaming "Take that, Chinks!"
They threw full soda cans at a mother and child who were out for a walk. Most definitely because we were Asian. From the cowardly position of a moving vehicle. Needless to say, it was a formative moment and just the beginning of my realization of how different we were and would always be.
Nearly four decades later, I have come to the sobering realization that I still carry anxiety about the proverbial soda can to the back of my head, and that that anxiety has kicked into overdrive due to COVID-19 related racism towards Asians. These feelings were unexpectedly triggered last week when I needed to go to the grocery store for us and my Mom. But then I realized something else. In order to get us all outside and give a little structure to our social distancing days, during the week days I have insisted on post-lunch walks with my daughters. And over the past few days, as I have tried to brush off scornful looks and clear physical indications of recoiling, I have found myself thinking, "Maybe I shouldn't be out walking with Laurel and Violet. If they're just with their Dad they can pass as White, but OMG, if they're with me...I could be a liability to my children."
Typing that just made me burst into tears.
Under normal circumstances, I feel better armored to take on racists. I have a voice that I feel empowered to use. And I know I can't protect my kids from everything; they need to deal with tough things to build resilience, but LORD. I feel a raw, painful vulnerability right now that is ever present, eating at the edges of my daily experience--sometimes in tiny, almost imperceptible nibbles, sometimes in giant bites--especially those that involve going outside. I'm supposed to model confidence and pride in who I am to my kids and make them feel confident and proud of who they are.
Instead, I fear they will be targeted if they are with me.
I know I need to keep walking outside with my children. I need to keep doing the work. I need to keep calling out the bullshit for what it is. I hope you will walk and do the work with me. If you see or hear people targeting Asians re: COVID-19 please call it out. There's a whole new generation of kids whose experiences are stacking up in their cells right now.
