Since my impromptu departure from Harvard’s campus on March 14th, I have been grappling with a sense of ambivalence. 

Specifically, I have struggled most with striking a balance between maintaining a sense of awareness of the ongoing events and preserving and caring for myself. 

COVID-19, among many other things, has been an enlightening experience; it exacerbated the existing inequities along racial and socioeconomic lines in the American healthcare system, it exposed the irony of the American ‘essential’ service worker often being amongst the most underpaid and under-appreciated members of the workforce, and it revealed that so many elements of our sense of ‘normal’ are completely and totally arbitrary in the grand scheme of things. 

When we look at it by the numbers, there is no denying the magnitude of COVID-19’s impact. Millions of people across the globe have contracted the coronavirus. Millions of Americans are unemployed as a result of the coronavirus. Millions of people are food insecure or their state of food security has worsened because of the coronavirus. Hundreds of thousands of lives were lost to the coronavirus. 

In the midst of all that’s happening with the coronavirus pandemic, another pandemic in the form of racial discrimination has become a central part of our dialogue as a nation. With the senseless killings of Tony McDade, Elijah McClain, Breonna Taylor, Nina Pop, George Floyd and far too many other Black people in this country, one thing has become very clear: people are tired. Enough is enough. 

While I am overjoyed that other folks have finally tuned in, I'd be lying if I said that this hasn't been a very exhausting conversation.

As a dark-skinned Black woman, I am no stranger to racial injustice. I have encountered more micro-aggressions and have heard more blatantly racist remarks directed towards me than what is fair. The discussions about race that are now ubiquitous are not new to me, my family, or my BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) peers. We’ve been singing this song for quite some time now. While I am overjoyed that other folks have finally tuned in, I'd be lying if I said that this hasn't been a very exhausting conversation. It’s exhausting to continuously have to explain the validity of my lived experiences to individuals, institutions, and organizations. It’s exhausting that people refer to me as an encyclopedia on Blackness when there is an entire internet at our disposal. It's exhausting that supporting the livelihood and equal treatment of Black people is deemed political, rather than moral. It’s exhausting to see that my life matters so little to so many.

The battle against COVID-19 coupled with the fight against racial injustice has left me drained. Today, to be aware is to be enraged. 

I know that I cannot pour from an empty cup, so self-care and self-preservation are necessary practices now more than ever. The challenge for me, though, is knowing when I need to be aware and knowing when I need to prioritize myself. 

Navigating this duality of awareness and self-preservation has been anything but easy.

There is so much privilege in being able to make the decision to bow out of a fight. There is so much privilege in being able to take a break when the rest of the world is on fire. I know that the burden is not only on me and that there are so many others who are on the frontlines of both COVID-19 and racial injustice. It just feels wrong for me to press pause when there is still so much work to be done. 

Self-care feels selfish these days. I have been meditating, running, journaling, disconnecting from social media, reconnecting with my loved ones, and reflecting on myself, my values, and my ambitions beyond the realm of academia a lot since I have left Harvard. In many ways, I feel great. I feel better about myself than I have in a very long time. With that though, I can’t help but feel guilty for prioritizing personal growth when far too many people dying and disenfranchised.

The past few months, weeks, days have been undoubtedly tough. Navigating this duality of awareness and self-preservation has been anything but easy. And while I haven’t figured it all out yet, I am doing my best each and every day, and that is becoming enough for me. I know that may be a bit anticlimactic, but it's the truth: all we can do is our best. 

More importantly though, I find solace in knowing that the best days, for all of us, have yet to come. Perhaps it's naivety or blind optimism, but I feel a shift in our sense of normalcy on all fronts. The passion in the hearts of the American people as they fight for the justice that is long overdue and the tenacity the human race has shown as they travel through the uncharted waters of the COVID-19 pandemic insinuates that our best days lie ahead.

We’ve come a long way, but we still have a long way to go. I hope to see us get there.