discomfort
discomfort
SARAH
Like failure, discomfort tells me that change is happening, and that I am stepping into something new, unfamiliar, and challenging.
For white folks, when we feel like power and resources are being moved away from us and returned to BIPOC, or when safety, rest and play is becoming a shared socio-racial experience, we will most likely feel uncomfortable! But this discomfort reminds us that we are doing something that we have never done before–and this is crucial and powerful, because what we were doing before was upholding white supremacist world creation.
Discomfort is, well, uncomfortable. We need to build our stamina for the sensations and messages of discomfort in order to begin anti-racisting. We also need to differentiate discomfort from danger. What’s dangerous is when my nervous system kicks way above discomfort, into full-on fight, flight or freeze: This is when racial violence happens through my white body, when I confuse honoring Black and brown life with a fear for my own life. But discomfort is that magical resilient place where I can be like “ok, wow, I used to be the one on stage, and now I am behind the scenes supporting Black visions for performance- this is uncomfortable and new for me. What can I learn if I stay here in this new role?” If I can hang with the discomfort, I can be curious and learn.
We can also think about the economy of discomfort, and how BIPOC are forced to hold so so so much of the discomfort of daily racism. What would it mean for me to share in the uncomfortable truths of racism without fleeing or fighting or freezing? What could it mean to accept the uncomfortable reality of our complicity in a white supremacist system? Can I grow my stamina for this discomfort, so much so that it moves me into accountable change work? It’s not masochistic to want white people to feel the pain of racism–it's about celebrating the power and practice of vulnerability and how vulnerability moves us toward understanding ourselves and each other more honestly.
KAI
Discomfort for US could be trusting that when we are together we don’t need to perform ‘professionalism.’
Discomfort for US might mean that we can turn our cameras off, that we can lay down, that ways of speaking and being that we code-switch away from in white spaces will not be punished and are welcome here, or that you can take up space here as you are.
Discomfort for US can be a signal we are coming home to ourselves, a place we may never have had the privilege to know is safe. If you’ve been under the stress of surviving racism your whole life, peace can feel like danger. So here together, the work–the play, the experiment, the practice–is to recognize and feel how comfort has been robbed from us and reclaim our right to it.
My therapist (shout out to Black therapists!) said something that changed my life when it finally started to sink in. She said “Kai, you need to learn how to spread discomfort around. If someone has done or said something that has left you feeling some kinda way, why should you hold that alone and they remain comfortable? Who taught you it’s your job to hold the discomfort in the room for everyone? Spread that shit around! You’ll be uncomfortable either way, but at least this way you won’t be holding it alone.” How many times has a white person said something racist and you’ve felt it while they remained comfortable? What if part of our work is to spread that discomfort around rather than swallow it alone? This isn’t about lashing out (though sometimes we need that too!) This is about realizing how we’ve been told it’s our job to deal with race, to absorb racism, to be kind to white people who ‘don’t know better’, and instead saying I will no longer see this discomfort as my work to do or hold, it’s yours too.
QUOTES
Comfort Protects Systems, Not People
White comfort has always been prioritized over Black liberation. During Reconstruction, Civil Rights, and even now in workplace “diversity” conversations, “keeping the peace” has meant protecting systems rather than people.
When someone says, “Let’s not make waves,” what they’re often saying is: “Let’s not disrupt the system that benefits me.”
Reframe: Comfort to courage: Liberation requires risk.
— From Desiree B Simpson’s Liberation Education Newsletter
“A calm healthy nervous system is a privilege when it should be a birthright.”
— Dr. Shena Young from body rites
body rites is a holistic healing journey anchored in the practice of decolonizing healing and reclaiming body sovereignty. It reaches back into indigenous roots and land-based healing and centers remembering as a means of survival.
