I’ve heard the phrase “people don’t change” so many times throughout my life.

“People’s core values can’t be changed.”

“At this age, if they haven’t changed now, they never will.”

“They are who they are. No changing that.”

Maybe I’m naive or maybe I’m a cock-eyed optimist but I just can’t buy that. I can’t believe that people’s eyes and minds can’t continue to be expanded to new ideas and that even the deepest rooted opinions can’t be stretched, challenged or changed.

I can’t buy into that because I consider myself living proof that it’s possible. Now before I continue, please know that this post isn’t a “look at me and how great I’ve become” post. It’s also not at all a post intending to shame or criticize my parents and their decisions in my upbringing. I give my parents all respect and appreciation for my childhood and honestly wouldn’t change a thing about my life. It’s the story of someone who has come a long way from one side of an opinion to another and who wants to continue growing.

This blog is called Stumblings and Stitchings and this is a post about stumbling.

I was raised in a part of New York that wasn’t very diverse. And where there were pockets of diverse communities, I wasn’t spending time in them. I was raised in the church. We went to services 3 days a week and both of my parents were active leaders. I was raised a Republican, even though I don’t remember ever having conversations about politics.

I attended a liberal arts college in Florida. My stumblings were many. It took me 4 years to realize my varying degrees of racism, homophobia and bigotry. It’s still hard to admit it, but I must. I had been raised in particular beliefs that were quickly challenged once I was away from the environment that I was raised in. I said all the wrong things. My intentions were never malicious but absolutely ignorant.

“Why did you choose to be gay?”

“People shouldn’t marry outside their race. It’s just easier for their kids.”

I would sing the “N” word if it was in a song I was listening to.

“Being gay isn’t natural.”

“Faggot.”

“Retard.”

I cringe as I type them and feel shame over the countless others that I’m sure had slipped out of me for years.

Sometimes I was greeted with responses that were much kinder than I deserved. Some people were willing to take the time to educate me, have a conversation with me and not tear me to shreds. Others were not and looking back, I can’t say that I blame them.

It wasn’t until I actually started meeting and getting to know diverse people that my eyes began to open. I felt love for people in new ways that made condemning them impossible. How could the God I know create all this beauty and intend for me to hate it?

While my eyes and heart were in the process of growing and changing, I certainly wasn’t going to rock any boats about it. I was happy to be feeling these new ways but voicing my new opinions wasn’t something I was interested in. I didn’t want to fight with anyone.

I moved to New York City. The MeToo Movement started. When people would say things like “well why didn’t she say something sooner” or “boys will be boys” or “it was before he was president” my blood would boil. I wasn’t afraid to rock that boat. A step forward.
The LBGTQ Movement was/is ever present here. I honestly have a really hard time wrapping my head around how your basic human rights differ depending on who you have sex with and your gender. Like…..really??? So because I like men I get the premium membership to America but if I liked women I’d only be allowed the basic membership. I can’t. This felt like such a no-brainer to me. Supporting people’s right to love whoever they want and be whatever they feel came very naturally. A step forward.
Then the first wave of the Black Lives Matter movement happened. I hate to admit that I was an All Lives Matter person. I was heart broken for what was happening to black people but for some reason couldn’t put my whiteness aside enough to realize that the movement wasn’t about putting Black people above White people, but bringing them to the same level. I was also too afraid. I have friends from childhood that are police officers and I think about them and how difficult their job is at times. In my mind, All Lives Matter was a way to not take a stand in one direction or the other. Feel for Black people but don’t rock the boat. A step backward.
Then 2020 happened. I moved to Harlem. I’ve never lived in a neighborhood where I’m the minority. This place has a culture that I have no claim to and rightfully so. I walk around and feel lucky to get to witness it and take any small part in it. When this new wave of the Black Lives Matter movement arose, I immediately felt different. I feel like I can see things so much clearer. Black Lives Matter is so that all lives can matter. Of course there are good cops. I know and care about so many of them. I worry for them. It’s the system that they work for that is the problem. It’s the system that encourages the bad cops to act the way they do. Of course there are criminals that should be punished for their crimes. Is the punishment death before you even get into the cop car? Of course looting and rioting isn’t helpful. What other choices have Black people been given? They are condemned and ignored when they protest peacefully.

Black Lives Matter isn’t about giving Black people a free ride. It’s about either giving them the 18 chances that White people get or giving White people the 0 chances that Black people get. It’s about an even playing field regardless of your race.

I feel shame that it has taken me this long to be willing to voice these opinions out loud.
Shame that I was more worried about what the people back home would think of me if I posted my thoughts on social media.
Shame that I disagree with some of the people I’m closest to and love the most.
Shame that I was so okay with remaining silent.

I look back at the person I was and the person I am now. There is so much growth there and it was rarely easy. I will never know or presume to know what it’s like to be Black in America. I can only educate myself and be open to hard conversations that check my privilege. I will make mistakes but I will try.

So I continue to believe that people can change. Their hearts can soften; their minds can expand. I believe that there’s room for everyone at the table and I will continue to do my part to make that possible.