I used to believe I could outpace expectations. Maybe if I were careful enough, quiet enough, perfect enough, the world might offer me a fair chance. But life does not operate that way. Life is a game; a rigged game. Some people roll loaded dice, while others, like me, are handed broken pieces and expected to play by the same rules. For as long as I can remember, I have carried a weight; the weight of what others think I might do. Every step I take feels scrutinized, judged, and inevitably compared. And it is never just about me; it is about how my actions will be interpreted as a reflection of my entire community. I exist in a constant state of alert, not because I have done something wrong, but because people expect me to.
A few months ago, I was followed through a store, a jewelry store. I was not stealing. I was not even acting suspiciously. I was just shopping. Still, the store worker’s eyes tracked me aisle by aisle, as though my presence alone constituted suspicion. One of my moms, the one who was White, came with me. The other one. No one even spared a glance at her. That is when an old thought resurfaced, one I had encountered before, but had not fully absorbed until that moment: if one Black person makes a mistake, the entire community is shamed. If I mess up, people will not simply see me as mistaken. They will only see the color of my skin; they will view Blackness itself as culpable.
When I told my other mom (the Black one) about my experience later, we slipped into one of our long, familiar, and unfortunately repetitive conversations.
“This is why,” Mom Rico said, “you have to be careful. Because They won’t hesitate to cast you in whatever light suits Them.”
“I’m exhausted,” I admitted.
“Racism does that to you,” she replied, her tone steady.
Her words echoed the lessons I had heard many times before, but the repetition never dulls the sting. Each time it happens, it still hurts. Each time, it still catches me off guard. It is like a wound that never quite heals, but just scabs over until the next cut.
Many other similar instances happened in the interim, but one that stood out to me most was a year after the aforementioned event. A classmate looked me in the eye and asked if I was in a gang. I had not said or done anything to invite that question. I had been polite, focused, and hardworking. Still, the stereotype clung to me, uninvited but persistent. That moment hit harder than I expected, because it forced me to confront a truth I did not want to believe: even if I do everything “right,” many people will never notice because of the color of my skin.
Racism, in this reality, becomes a thief. It steals the simplicity from moments that should have been just that, simple. Grocery shopping. Joking with a classmate. Just existing. Instead, I am left with memories of being watched, judged, and wrongly assumed. Racism chips away at the ease of youth and replaces it with the fatigue of being constantly aware. It comes in many different forms, whether they are micro-aggressions (which are not micro at all) or right in your face, it is always there.
I am still carrying that weight. I have not fully let go of the need to overperform, to overcorrect, to try and shield myself from stereotypes that were never mine to begin with. I want to believe that I do not have to live for the approval of people who refuse to see me clearly, but I am still learning how. I want to stop striving for perfection in a world that will not recognize it in me, but I am not there yet. Healing, I have come to realize, is not a straight path. It is slow. It is uneven. Some days, I feel strong. Other days, I feel like I am still just surviving.
But even in the uncertainty, there is something quietly powerful in naming what I am going through. I can say that I am more than what others project onto me. I am not a statistic. I am not a stereotype. I am not a reflection of someone else’s fear. I am a person, learning to take up space in a world that often tries to shrink me.
So I end not with a resolution, but with a promise in progress: I will try to stop letting the world’s expectations define me. I know that people will continue to put me into boxes, but I will try not to shrink myself to protect an image that never needed defending. Loving myself is still difficult, but I am working on it. Choosing joy does not always come easy, but I know it matters. And even when I move forward with hesitation instead of certainty, I am still moving. And maybe, for now, that is enough. I am enough.
What a powerful piece, Zahana. Your voice is clear, brave, and beautifully written. Thank you for sharing this. So proud of you!
Love you Z
Excellent job. Well written.
You are a wonderful writer. Thank you for sharing this and your powerful words.
This is a profound and moving essay. Your reflection on the need to overperform and the journey toward realizing you are ‘enough’ just as you are is something I think everyone needs to hear. You are — always and forever — more than enough for me.
Zahana, thank you for sharing your personal story and enlightening all of us through your experiences. You are going to influence the world 🌎 to become a better place! Te quiero- Monica
Beautifully written. Thank you for sharing so bravely.
Zahana, this is a powerful and thoughtful essay. I respect and appreciate your courage in sharing your reality, especially in these current times. Keep using your voice. Somewhere in the universe, the late great James Baldwin is smiling. So am I 🙏🏾.
I love you Zahana! This is so good! -Lily
This is such an incredible essay Zahana! It was inspiring, detailed, and full of emotion. You’re such an amazing person and I hope I can read lots of your future work! =)
This is so good Zahana!! 💜
WOW IK YOU MIKAELA
Broke my heart and mended it in the same essay. Xoxo 😍
Your voice comes across in powerful way throughout this piece. The line, “I have not fully let go of the need to overperform, to overcorrect, to try and shield myself from stereotypes that were never mine to begin with,” was a place I specifically connected with and was able to see myself in as well. Thank you for sharing your voice and perspective with the world. Keep writing and sharing!
Zahana you write so powerfully and with great clarity. You have a talent for writing I hope you will always nurture. You also have a strong spirit. Keep pushing forward, and keep showing the world, through your power and grace, what still needs to be changed. Blessings to you.
Amazing memoir Zahana!!
So beautiful and authentic. Universal.
I, a white woman, have felt that sting. All my life I’ve worked in a world dominated by men who did not earn or deserve their power. I too worked twice as hard, was not taken seriously, and endured ignorant comments.
Now let’s add some ageism.
None of that compares to racism, but lady, you struck a nerve.
And that’s what good writing does.
Beautifly written. Congratulations.
Wow. What a powerful piece. It took me to a place of recognizing that these words, these emotions, these experiences are not experienced by many, including myself. And while it tears me apart, I am part of a population who can relate because of being religiously different than many in this “white” population. Your journey, thinking this through, recognizing that the positive steps you take are definitely enough at this point in time, are so insightful. I hope you continue to write because you will continue to be inspiring, not only to others, but to your own self as well.
Wow Zahana, you have put words to feelings that a lot of black people are still puzzled with. The feeling of being watched can be so overpowering, sometimes I find myself judging myself before I give people a chance to judge me… I love the optimism in your conclusion, it reminded me of the vow I made to myself! You (we) deserve to live for ourselves 🙂
Beautiful piece of writing!
beautifully written
Wonderful work, Zahana! Your voice is strong and brave! I can not wait to read more!
Creating art and beauty is a way to process experiences and emotions. You are so strong not only to go through those experiences, but to make art out of them through your beautiful writing, and then sharing that pain and beauty with others.
I so appreciate your courage and ever expanding heart.