In Her Shoes: Shana - On Batteries, Burdens, and Blackness

Every heart holds a story, and in sharing those stories we learn, we relate, and we find out that we are not alone. Today we are welcoming our very own Shana Chivon Stephens to the In Her Shoes series. Shana is our Secretary for SheHopes, and we are honored that she was willing to share her story with us today of what it is like to be In Her Shoes.

It started in the parking lot of Play it Again Sports. The kid was inside in the batting cages with the rest of his team and I was in the car looking at books. Somehow, while rubbing the spines of my new books, I did not start the car all the way. That was made clear when the car sang a three beep tune to me and subsequently died.

I sat in the car for a few moments and mustered up the strength to go inside and ask for a jump but when I walked in anxiety set it. I know you may be thinking, Shana it is just a jump, people's car batteries die all the time. Maybe you are right, for some it is just a jump but for me it was so much more.

For me it was about walking into the room with the parents who do not speak to me during baseball practice. It was having to walk up to someone that speaks to everyone around me and looks over me like I do not exist, or worse like I do exist but I am just not worth their time. Walking in that room for me meant sizing up each person to try and determine my approach and what to do if they responded unfavorably. 

I walked in and looked around and decided to take a few moments to process. In the far right corner was the only other black parent on the team but to get to him I would have had to walk past 4 other Dads and I didn't want it to look like we only talked to "our kind".

I stood thinking for 15 minutes before one of the Dads walked over to where I was standing to get a better view of his kid in the cages. I figured it was now or never and I asked. He was very kind and considerate and said yes immediately, I assured him it could wait until practice was over and I walked back to sit in my car.

From a mental health approach, what I experienced would be classified as anxiety caused by a desire to demonstrate avoidance of valued action. Because of frequent experiences of discrimination or racism I, and millions of other BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color), try to avoid interactions and limit our engagement in actions that may result in additional acts of racism (even though having the interaction would bring a value). 

In this case, I could not avoid the ask, I could have called my roadside assistance but that takes hours and there was no way I wanted to be in the rain in a parking lot waiting so that overrode my desire to avoid.

Once I got back in the car and the pressure, anxiety and tension left my body it was replaced by sadness. All day long at work I am very aware of the racism, tone policing, misogyny and anti-blackness I experience. To have to deal with all of that after work too was exhausting. 

To help you understand anti-blackness, I will offer an example. One night I was at work late with my manager and the HR lady who were both white. Once we finished our project it was dark outside and the parking lot was not very well lit. My manager asked the HR lady if she needed him to walk her to her car because he feared for her safety. He walked her out and came back. I sat for another 10 minutes to wait for his concern for my safety and it never came. I packed up my things and without looking up he said goodbye with no thought to my living or dying in the wild, wild parking lot.

The reality of that situation was that my manager did not view me as someone who needed to be kept safe or as a woman who needed to be watched over. My blackness somehow, whether consciously or subconsciously in his mind, disqualified me from needing protection.

Now, back to the car, be careful not to hear that he said yes and dismiss all that went into the ask. White people don't often know the discomfort of having to approach someone that does not look like them to complete a task wondering if they will be disrespected or rejected when asking for assistance. In my mind, as I scanned the faces of the men in the batting cage I ran through every scenario and I was fearful of being treated poorly or denied help and the fear of that lingered like the smell of fish in the kitchen after frying.

So, after all that, when I got back in the car, I cried. I cried for every time I have an idea at work and I am told I am too passionate and I come across angry because of the tone of my voice. I cried for every white male manager that was promoted over me because he had "experience" that I could not see (4 at this job so far). I cried for every time I am in a store aisle and the person coming down refuses to give my black body space even after I say excuse me. I cried for every day that I have to process my gender and my blackness against the lack of safety and support in the community and city I live in. 

I cried because when the heart can’t handle the burden, the eyes know just what to do. But I know that these tears won’t be the ones to drown me, instead I will use them as water to nurture the ground where I am planting seeds of change for me, for you and for those that join us in the work. I cried but my hope is that one day, a black women who desperately needs a jump on a rainy afternoon can confidently ask anyone for one and she will not have to cry too.

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*Originally shared on Patreon.

Thank you, Shana, for sharing your story with us today. You can find Shana on ShanaChivon.com, Facebook, and Instagram.

Every heart holds a story. If you would like to share your story with women and girls around the world - email us at Ginger@SheHopes.org or contact us HERE. Please remember that you are seen, you are loved, you are worth fighting for, and you are not alone.

Here’s to HOPE…