Column: A love letter to my black husband

You are an incredible, intelligent, strong, beautiful and powerful black man. I wanted to make sure I started this letter with a positive because you are overwhelmingly a positive force in my life.

I am so proud to be married to you and to be able to learn from an experience that is so vastly different than mine. Even though I experience life through the lens of womanhood, I am still white (very white, according to Ancestry DNA). Unfortunately, I have been gifted with a level of privilege that you will never enjoy.

I want to apologize to you for the negative ordeals that you have had, which I may have contributed indirectly (or sometimes directly) in the past. Even in ways that I was not aware, I have benefited from your oppression and for that I am sorry.

I will never experience discrimination in the workplace because of my hair or fear for my life when I get pulled over for speeding.

When I used to smoke marijuana, I never feared that I might be sentenced to spend eight years in prison, as you could be.

If I committed a violent crime, the media might talk about how my diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder led me to a nervous break. If you did the same, they would look for gang violence in your history.

I don’t have to think about my race, because I am allowed to live as an individual, rather than a representative of all people who look like me.

I have heard many white people ask why everything has to be about race, but the thing they fail to understand is that for non-white people, everything relates back to the color of their skin.

Whether it’s a microaggression, like the concept of colorblindness (which does far more harm than good), or a macro-aggression, like police brutality, black people are reminded daily that their race matters- or rather, that because of their race they matter less.

You’re a black man, which means that your likelihood of going to prison is much higher than mine. Black Americans are five times more likely to be imprisoned than white Americans.

As a white woman, the statistical probability that I will be incarcerated is slim (49 out of every 100,000), while one in three black men will go to prison at some point in their life. You have seven brothers. I’ve done the math.

It’s not just you that I have to worry about; even though our children will be biracial, the world will expect them to check the box that says “African American,” because we’re still using the one-drop rule in 2020.

Ideally, I see myself empowering them to live their best lives and to not let others hold power over them, but I know that their actions have consequences that I will never face. When a police officer tells them to step out of their vehicle, they can’t start listing their rights and refuse to listen, even though that is exactly what I would do.

That is my privilege speaking, though. I know you will teach them to comply, speak softly and make no sudden movements. Your knowledge and lived experience will keep them safe, while my privileged idealized worldview could get them killed.

I know this love letter might seem depressing to those who haven’t experienced these things, but you and I know that a big part of loving you is recognizing the obstacles that stand in your way.

But being aware of the challenges you face isn’t enough. In order to love you in the way that you deserve, I have to use my privilege and power to benefit you. Learning about racial injustice and educating others is a big part of that.

I promise to love you in every way possible. I will continue to learn and grow, recognizing my internalized biases and questioning the dangerous stereotypes that were ingrained in my worldview from a young age.

I will continue to stand up for you when the world grabs you by the throat and cuts off your voice. I will recognize when I am wrong and when racism is skewing my perspective. I will not speak over you when you educate me.

As a human, I will shout “black lives matter” from the top of every mountain you face.

As a journalist, I will call out racism and hold people accountable for their actions, even when others tell me that I should stay silent.

As a wife, I will love you endlessly and help you hold your head high when life has made it feel too heavy.

As a mother, I will fight for and love our beautiful children.

Thank you for making my life so much better. You are a king among men and I love you.