How Asking For A Black Nutritionist Turned Into White Tears.

I found myself having to process White fragility at 8:00 am today.

This morning I had a virtual appointment with my VA nutritionist. My primary care physician is Hispanic and by now she already knows I'm going to ask to be referred to a Black or Brown specialist.

When she referred me to the nutritionist, I was informed they didn't have a Black one at that particular VA clinic. Cool. I can take the information and apply where needed.

So I log in to virtually connect with said nutritionist. She introduces herself and asks what brings me in. I greet her back and preface my questions with...

"I'm uncertain what your experience is with my community, but I did desire to see a Black nutritionist. I'm sharing this because my questions are particular about issues that may be more prevalent generationally for me. Have you ever worked with Black women before?"

Now even in this, I realize I was watching my tone and how I framed the question because...past experiences.

She nods her head in agreement like she understands but never directly answers my question. We start the appointment and TWO minutes in...SHE STARTS CRYING!!! Like, it shocked me so bad I was looking like . And before you ask, yes... yes she was.

I said "are you okay?!". She answered yes, but she is VISIBLY crying at this point. Like "Ma'am are you sure...do we need to reschedule?". She then said "I'm sorry. I've never been asked that question before. But I have a Black colleague I can refer you to at another VA. She is great." I didn't even want to finish my appointment, but I had a right to. I still needed this info so I thanked her.

Soon after, I kept having to reaffirm that for all the years I didn't ask, I deserved to ask that question. But it was at that moment the appointment stopped being about me. It took me back to EVERY SINGLE TIME white tears overshadowed what I needed.

The white ER doctor who continued to stand on my left AFTER I expressed to him that my left side hurt was in pain after being rear-ended and I couldn't turn to face him. Oh, after the white cop sided with the driver to hit me and began to gaslight me about being ‘fine’ on I-69, one of the most dangerous and busiest interstates in Houston.

The white man who called me a bitch for parking in a Veterans parking spot at Ruby Tuesday because I didn't look like one.

Or the white base cop who put me in handcuffs while 5 months pregnant AFTER I called asking for help because my drunk roommate tried to attack me in the barracks. She wasn't even supposed to be drinking, and yet they were laughing it up hearing her side of the story.

Even the white male doctor who told me to stop screaming during my contractions (with no drugs) because I would scare other women in labor.

HEALTHCARE. ACADEMIA. MILITARY. CORPORATE. RELIGION.

These are the systems in "systemic oppression'. Like when does it ever get better? What am I fighting for? This was one of the reasons I became a therapist. I wanted to disrupt the system another way. To represent. To advocate. To be a voice for those who look like me but couldn't be in the room.

You may not be an activist holding a sign, but just asking questions to normalize the expectation of Black and Brown bodies in these spaces are activism in itself.

But I for damn sure didn't expect to start my day with this, but here we are.