A new vision of success, as told by my heart
“Your people need what has not been expressed yet,” Resmaa Menakem said to us in a Somatic Abolitionism course for people with white bodies. My inner critic questions whether there is really anything that “has not been expressed yet,” but my heart whispers, “let’s see.”
Speaking of my heart, that’s where I want to start.
The care culture newsletter is an inquiry on how to shape a culture that values care and connection as an antidote to the violence of white supremacy culture. The only thing I know for sure in this journey is that we must let our hearts lead us. Everything else is up for exploration, questioning, interrogation. But our hearts, they’ve been left out of our workplaces (and oftentimes our lives) for too long.
And that’s intentional. White supremacy culture depends on us leaving our hearts at the door. Do more. No mistakes. Put your head down and get it done. At any expense. Your life literally depends on it. Because when we let our hearts lead, we move with softness and care. Sometimes that takes more time, so we might be “less efficient.” Oftentimes it requires us to take risks and try things in new ways, which means we might make mistakes.
I’ve been lucky to work for organizations where I was mostly surrounded by heart-led people who were rooted in a shared set of social justice values. In the case of GlobeMed, our anti-oppression statement and leadership practices guided our performance (i.e. how success was defined) as staff and in our programs. At Living Cities, our Colleagues Operationalizing Racial Equity team was deeply committed to helping us interrogate white supremacy culture and live into our values, which guided how our performance/ success was measured.
And yet, sometimes I would notice white supremacy culture showing up in my behaviors in ways that impacted my (mostly Black) colleagues, but couldn’t necessarily be captured by the practices and values that were measuring my success on paper. I would take on a tone of annoyance if my colleagues missed deadlines; I would allow myself to get swept up in gossip culture; I would undermine the leadership of people of color by “just clarifying” something in a stakeholder meeting or sidestepping their authority.
Thanks to my colleagues of color who took risks to call me in, my white accountability buddies, and my own relentless self-interrogation, I started making note of how my own behaviors were actually barriers to the anti-racist culture I claimed to be contributing to. Does any of our work matter if the staff running the programs reenact the racist patterns the programs claim to disrupt? Can equity grow where complicity dwells? I started taking responsibility for these behaviors and considering how I might shift my own notion of “success” to live into a world where we are all safe.
The definition of success I’m working with these days centers on the depth of safety, trust and joy people feel in my presence–especially Black people and other people who carry identities that disproportionately experience violence in our society.
Safety meaning emotional, mental and physical safety. Safety meaning no fear that I might suddenly undermine, gaslight or betray them. Safety meaning they can tell me when I’m enacting white supremacy culture and know that I won’t get defensive and will take responsibility. Like when I owned that I undermined a Black colleague by unnecessarily telling our manager details about a collaboration agreement we’d made.
Trust meaning no concern that I’ll take their words and make them mine in other rooms. Trust meaning they can name experiences of racism in my presence and know they’ll be believed and held with tenderness. Trust meaning confidence that I’ll hold my white colleagues accountable so they don’t have to. Like when I witnessed my white colleague call-in a white senior leader about the harmful racial dynamics they were contributing to in the organization.
Joy meaning ease. Joy meaning we show up in our full humanity. Joy meaning mutuality and collective liberation. Like when three colleagues of color and I took PTO to spend a whole day doing only things that bring us pleasure.
And most importantly, practicing these elements of care culture even when I’m messing up. Even when no one extends acknowledgement or affirmation, or when people of color still don’t feel safe, trusting, joyful, or willing to engage with me or the spaces we occupy together. Practicing not to make friends or be liked, but to reclaim (from capitalism, white supremacy and other dehumanizing systems) my own humanity. To be able to show up in my full human experience with integrity and dignity. To let my heart lead, in the spirit of nurturing our collective humanity.
How might you practice in this spirit? How are you already leading with your heart? How might we shape care culture together?
With care,
Alyssa