As a white person in America, it’s much more simple to be able to glide through life without questioning the world around you. Your experiences, your opportunities, your safety, these are things you rarely have to think about in terms of race. But at some point, as the stories of injustice grow louder and more impossible to ignore, you have to ask yourself: Am I doing enough to understand what people of color are going through?
For me, this question didn’t come all at once. It was gradual, like a slow burn that finally forced me to look at myself and the society I’m part of, in a way that I never had before. I didn’t grow up in a racist household or in a town defined by hatred, but like most white people I was conditioned to think of race only when it was shoved in my face. And when that happens, it can feel jarring, uncomfortable. You start realizing that what you’ve known as “normal” isn’t the reality for everyone.The journey to confronting one’s own privilege is not an easy one. For white individuals in particular, the process often begins with a recognition that the dominant social narrative has historically centered their experiences while systematically marginalized communities of color. This recognition doesn’t come easily for everyone, and for many, it can be an emotionally draining experience.
Personally, that moment of realization came a few years ago. I was sitting in my school lunch, listening to my friend, who’s Black, share her experiences of being followed around in stores, of facing microaggressions, and of dealing with the constant weight of racism. At first, I felt defensive. I told myself, “This isn’t my fault,” but as she kept speaking, I realized how deeply ingrained these issues are in our society, and how oblivious I had been to them. It was an uncomfortable feeling, that awareness. At first, I didn’t know what to do with it. I wanted to fix things, to erase the injustice, but where do you start?
I sat there, frozen. I hadn’t realized how blind I had been so far. Every part of her life, it seemed, had been shaped by something I had never even had to consider. I had lived in a bubble of privilege, and the truth was, I didn’t know what to say. I felt guilty for not asking these questions earlier, for never really listening to what people of color were saying. She didn’t blame me. She understood the ignorance that comes from privilege. But it hit me hard. I couldn’t unsee it.
This moment of discomfort didn’t end with that conversation, it sparked a slow unraveling. I began questioning my own biases, things I didn’t even know I’d been taught. I never had to think about race because, as a white person, the system was built to favor me. The discomfort, while challenging, has shifted something inside me. I’m still learning, still making mistakes, and still figuring out how to be a better ally. But I no longer feel like ignorance is an option. Understanding the struggles of people of color isn’t something that should be reserved for a moment of crisis; it’s something I need to carry with me every day. And it’s through the discomfort, the moments when I feel exposed and vulnerable, that I find myself growing into a better version of myself.
Ultimately, the work isn’t about perfection. It’s about consistency and honesty, about being brave enough to confront hard truths and humble enough to listen, learn, and act. If white people want to be part of the solution, the first step is to sit in the discomfort, acknowledge our privilege, and commit to doing better, not just today, but every day. Because, as my friend used to remind me, it’s not enough to be silent. The world is asking for action.