I love that Juneteenth falls during Pride Month. While I could highlight the countless humans of color who have been instrumental in both LGBTQ+ and civil rights, that’s not the best offering I can give on a day like today.
Instead, let me show you how I’m finding my racism and deconstructing it. It’s the most honest contribution I can make.
As a middle-aged white queer woman whose internalized bias nearly took her life, identifying my internalized racism isn’t something that can be wrapped up in a single essay. It’s layered, ongoing, and often uncomfortable.
But it’s real. And it matters.
The First Domino
To be clear, it was my internalized homophobia that nearly ended things for me, not my internalized racism. But once you start peeling back the layers of “I’m a good person” in one area, it topples the rest.
Internalized racism, misogyny, ableism, and transphobia: they’re all connected. All baked in. And once one domino falls, the rest begin to wobble.
I could only find the first domino by removing shame, and the most powerful path was to recognize, every single human has internalized bias, including racism. ALL OF US. Therefore, the only shame is in ignoring that reality and doing nothing about it.
Dropping the shame allowed me to identify the false dichotomy: just because I identify as a good person who would never knowingly harm a person of color, does not mean that I’m an ally, or even net neutral with my impact. In other words,
I can be a good person and still have internalized racism that harms humans I care about, and myself.
Sitting with that truth is a powerful exercise in and of itself. So let me ask you:
How does your allyship change when you release shame and accept that racism lives in all of us?
Learning to See
First, identification: Where is my internalized racism playing out in my life? Well, my brain couldn’t see it, because #neuroscience. I couldn’t intellectualize myself out of racism. So instead of thinking, I began doing.
As part of my first step, I began learning from the lived experience of Black humans, and just as importantly, I believed them. I sat in spaces to hear the stories of racial profiling, generational trauma, and systemic harm. AND I BELIEVED THEM.
Which, of course, made me want to act. Most of us, once we understand the injustice, want to take action. So I began sharing what they taught me, experimenting with my own words, as I tried to change minds and systems. And guess what?
I screwed up. I used harmful language. I centered myself. I did dumb things.
And it freaked me out.
When a Black woman you deeply respect, but have never spoken to directly, slides into your DMs with, “Excuse me, it’s time to check yourself. Here’s why…”
Whew. Buckle up, fam.
What happens when you say the wrong thing as an ally?
First, your ego-based defensiveness shows up faster than Elon can tweet. Yup. The exact reaction you know not to have… is the one you trip over immediately.
So you retreat. Lick your wounds. And hopefully, return with humility, ready to try again.
And then? You get called out again.
That’s when you realize: there’s no trophy for allyship. No scoreboard. No final boss where you “beat” racism.
There’s just impact. Your intent does not matter. It’s a hard habit to break: defending the harm you create through your positive intent. It’s especially hard for those of us raised on gold stars and good-girl approval.
Once you see how dumb it is, you can’t unsee it. I can be a good person and still create a negative impact. The question is, can I understand the harm enough (read: remove ego) to try again? Because that’s the only way to get to positive impact.
Go next. (This is a phrase that denotes “don’t waste time wallowing in your mistake, focus on the next opportunity to get it right.”)
Sustaining the Work
That’s when I realized truth #2: you always suck when you begin learning a new skill. Allyship to the Black community is no different. I’d rather suck while trying, then keep my head in the sand the way I did for the first 40 years of my life.
So you keep trying, and the feedback keeps coming. In fact, it increases! As hard as this can feel, it’s actually a good sign! It means the people you’re impacting are beginning to trust that you’ll listen when they tell you what’s up.
They won’t have to waste their time and energy reassuring you that “it’s okay” while also teaching you how to do better.
Rinse and repeat.
Where does this get me?
Depends. What kind of impact do you truly want to have?
What impact aligns with your Core Values, sparks a fire strong enough to withstand the iciness of white fragility, AND is realistic with your skillset?
For me, I started with my Core Values: humanity, presence, and connection. Anytime I can base a goal on one or more of those, I can sustain the journey to get there. Next, I added some skills. One of my superpowers is breaking down hard topics like internalized bias into understandable, actionable concepts for people who look and talk like me.
I also recognized that I spent two decades in the room with white, conservative men whose entire identity was “I’m a good person, therefore I do not create harm.” I know their language, their logic, and the pain they’ve caused in their own families. That’s a skill.
I can say things to them that no one else can. Mainly because they know I can’t judge them. There’s nothing they can say to me that I didn’t say myself just ten years ago.
There is no time for shame in learning how not to be a racist.
My Role
My goal is to walk into places of business, where influential people gather to learn new skills, connect authentically with them by being radically present to their reality, focus on our shared humanity, and show them a path where they can realistically stop doing and saying racist things at work, which will improve their quality of life the way it has mine.
I am NOT an anti-racism educator. (I link my faves below.) I am the person who can walk into a room with 12 white male executives and open the mental window. I create a way for leaders to actually see what’s happening, disarm the defensiveness, and start the unlearning process.
This is my desired impact. Every strategy that I use centers that impact. There is no one right way to pursue that goal. And if I fail or fall short, that’s just data.
Is it embarrassing? Yup.
Go next.
To pursue my goal, sometimes I open the window behind closed doors. Deconstructing your worldview in public is nearly impossible for anyone, let alone those whose privilege is baked into their DNA.
Sometimes, I facilitate the conversation. Asking the real questions, passing the mic to the Black human with the answers, and believing them out loud.
Always, I stay mindful: I will screw up. When, not if. I will say the wrong thing. There will be a misstep, and it will be public. Let’s radically acknowledge that reality. And yeah, getting my backside handed to me over LinkedIn comments is not pleasant.
“See?! What about cancel culture?!” they say. And let’s not ignore that reality either. I am a single mom who pays the bills by convincing Corporate America that I’m worth the paycheck.
Why risk my ability to put food on the table by potentially alienating them? Valid.
Homosexual audacity made me do it.
“Homosexual audacity” is a tongue-in-cheek phrase in my community for the mindset you develop when your very existence defies expectation. I never dreamed that I would be an ex-Mormon, lesbian, business owner, but here we are. Baby, I believe I can do anything, regardless of having the actual skill. Not to mention, lesbians specifically don’t understand the concept of “can’t”. Everyone needs a lesbian in their life, boo.
And thank goodness for the audacity, because I’ve met so many humans who want to live from their true self, not the one programmed by society’s bias. Many already feel the discomfort. The gut-check that says:
“My impact probably doesn’t match my intent.”
They just don’t know where to start. My job is to walk beside them as they unlearn, shed old habits, and unbecome the version of themselves shaped by survival, not authenticity.
This is how we look back and know that the life we lived was really ours, not the result of societal puppet masters. This is how we reclaim our identity, and therefore our power.
Engaging in this work has expanded my world in the most beautiful ways.
What could it mean for your life?
On this day, Juneteenth of 2025, it’s imperative that we ask:
This life you’re living, does it belong to you, or to the systems that raised you?
Thanks for reading! If this resonated and felt like MORE, please subscribe.
Cool resources for Juneteenth
Jasmine Bradshaw - her podcast is a treasure trove for parents, as well as for those of us who need to start with an “explain it like I’m five” approach. Now she works with schools and other organizations.
Ashani Mfuko - incredible anti-racism educator when you’re ready for the real talk.
The Black HR Society - their educational events are a huge value, and their networking events are fire.
Jimmy Hart is one of my favorite educators when your org needs a powerful Black man to do the teaching, with a gentle approach. Hearing how he experienced desegregation as a child was a pivotal moment for me.
At the intersection of Black culture, queer culture, and spirtuality is Coach K, Kalyela Josephs (pronounced like “Delilah”). When members of the Black community struggle with LGBTQ+ equality, it’s often spiritually based, and that’s Coach K’s wheelhouse. She’s an incredible human for both individuals and organizations.
Find your local Black Chamber of Commerce and pull up. Connect human-to-human, learn about their businesses and their goals, then take action.
These are the resources I have direct experience with. Please share who you have found to be helpful!
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit elenajoyspeaks.substack.com
