Called a Racial Slur at 7 Years Old:

My Journey Through Hate, Fear, and Resilience

At seven years old, the world shattered for me the first time I was called a racial slur — a moment that marked the beginning of my painful awareness of racism. Until then, I thought prejudice was a thing of the past, something from black-and-white movies and old history books. But that day, walking home alone, a hateful word pierced through my childhood innocence and changed everything.

The Day Hate Found Me: A Childhood Memory That Still Stings

Instead of meeting my mom at the school gate like usual, I was told to meet her three blocks down the street — a big step toward independence. Filled with excitement, I walked confidently, imagining the soundtrack of my journey, maybe a TLC or Spice Girls song in my head. But that moment froze when a pickup truck full of boys drove by, yelling a hateful slur at me, their breath hot on my face.

Feeling Alone and Seen: The Pain of Being the ‘Other’

In an instant, every eye on the street locked on me — the only Black child in a sea of white faces. Their silence was deafening. Their stares, piercing. I was invisible one moment and the target the next. The word they shouted wasn’t just a slur; it was a reminder that I was different, marked by a history and prejudice I didn’t understand but felt deeply.

Growing Up Black in a Mostly White World

Growing up, I faced this “otherness” daily — in classrooms, on playgrounds, even in history lessons about slavery where classmates would stare at me, as if trying to understand. Each instance chipped away at my sense of belonging, but I held on to the knowledge my parents gave me: that I was not defined by hateful words.

Healing from Racial Trauma: The Long Road to Strength

It wasn’t until 2020, at 31 years old, that I fully understood the weight of racial trauma. Watching George Floyd’s death unfold triggered a flood of painful memories and emotions — what I now call “POC PTSD episodes.” But unlike before, this time the world stood with us. Millions from every corner of the globe united in protest, offering hope and solidarity I had never seen before.

A Call to Action: Together Toward a More Perfect Union

We still have a long way to go, but I believe in the power of unity, awareness, and action. My story — from that terrifying moment at seven to the global movement in 2020 — is a reminder that we are not alone. Together, we can continue running the marathon toward justice, healing, and belonging.