She gives me a rueful kind of smile. “I don’t want to perform the mea culpa at you, because I know the performance means nothing without really understanding—without action—but I am sorry for not seeing, and reflecting on it, Bex, I’m so sorry. Of course you get it. You get it so much more than I ever will have to.”
She’s right that I don’t want performance. What I do want is much simpler.
Not easier—definitely not that—but simpler.
“I know you know this, Delph, deep down. I wouldn’t have been with you if I thought you didn’t. And I’m not invalidating what you felt or what’s happened to you to have made you feel that way—I just need you to accept my reality too. To make room inside yours for what I experience as a Black woman, because you will always have more latitude than me, m
