For over a year I have kept the details of this story hidden from almost everyone. Those of you who know me may recognize certain elements and think to yourselves that you know the whole story…

But you don’t. Even you that know me, especially you that know me, should read the entire story.  And if you ask yourselves why I didn’t tell this story sooner, the primary reason is because it may make someone that I care about feel bad, and I don’t ever want to make anyone feel bad.  But there are other reasons, as well, which I will expose at the end of the story…

This is the story of two women. One woman is black and the other woman is white.

The two women work for the same international organization and are based in different in offices overseas. For a short while they were working together temporarily in the same country. They are colleagues and friends. One weekend the two women and another friend went out for a great day of shopping, eating, and laughter. It was a fantastic day that, unfortunately, abruptly ended when, according to witnesses, the vehicle in which they were travelling flipped and rolled several times, almost killing them all. The two women and their friend all sustained serious injuries, were rushed to the hospital, and underwent multiple treatments and surgeries.

The news of their accident and hospitalization was spread among the women’s organization. Almost everyone who worked at their organization knew about the accident. One of the women, who we can call “Elizabeth”, was initially admitted to the intensive care unit, and as far as she could tell, she was alone. Luckily, a few days later, she was moved to the same room as the other woman, who we can call “Rachel”. Elizabeth found it comforting to be with Rachel, especially since the accident took place in the middle of December, which meant that the two women spent Christmas in a foreign hospital far from friends and family. At least this way they were together.

While they were hospitalized, they supported each other as they faced the challenges of more surgery, receiving care, and long-term healing. Their other friend who was also in the accident had been released from the hospital, but returned a few times to visit, even on Christmas Day, and the three found solace in being together. While still in the hospital, the two women took photos of themselves in their gowns and bandages and posted them on Facebook so family and friends could see that they were ok.

Elizabeth remembers vividly one time when they were both scheduled for surgery on the same day. Elizabeth went first and returned to their room first, where she waited for what seemed like an eternity for Rachel to come back too. When Rachel finally got back to the room she was sobbing from excruciating pain. This frightened Elizabeth and she didn’t know what to do to help her friend. So, Elizabeth struggled to get up and limped over to Rachel’s bed to hold her hand and call for the nurse. Elizabeth also remembers how at times…often, when she would grimace from pain and awaken in the middle of the night, Rachel would wake up too and check to see if she was ok. That always made Elizabeth feel better and it helped to calm her.

Several months after the accident and after they were both out of the hospital, their organization held a global conference in Washington DC. This brought together all of their colleagues who did the same jobs, but in different countries around the world. The conference gave the two women an opportunity to see each other again as well as many of their friends and colleagues. It was great to see people. So many colleagues were very happy to see the women and many told them how glad everyone was that they were ok.

During the conference, one of their colleagues, a man, approached Elizabeth. He said that he had been assigned the task of giving conference participants awards. He noted that some of the awards would be jokes or spins on personalities. Then the man told Elizabeth that he also wanted to give an award to Rachel. He said that he wanted to acknowledge the difficulty of her being in a terrible accident and the struggles she had faced. He wanted to acknowledge how great and strong and brave Rachel had been. And finally, he looked at Elizabeth and said, “Is that ok with you?”

Elizabeth was stunned. She couldn’t understand that while both women had experienced severe trauma, someone would only focus on the difficulty endured by just one of them. So she didn’t really know what to say or how to respond, other than to say, “ok.” What could she say? She didn’t want to say “no” or “not ok”, because she didn’t want the man to think that she didn’t think Rachel was great or that she was just trying to get him to also give her an award too. Besides, why wouldn’t anyone say that Rachel was great? Elizabeth also thought Rachel was great. She knew first hand that Rachel had suffered and had shown strength, but at the same time she felt confused and hurt and invisible and devalued. It was as if this man was saying that that Elizabeth’s suffering did not matter. After all, it was evident from a bandaged arm that she was still managing ongoing care. The previous week, Elizabeth had undergone more surgery, this time to remove remaining glass from her arm, very close to an artery.

Elizabeth said nothing about this. She cried a few times in private, but she said nothing. And, on the last day of the conference, the man did as he had promised and presented the award to Rachel. He stood on a stage and talked about how strong and brave Rachel had been. A few times it seemed as though he would cry he was so touched by the resiliency Rachel clearly possessed. Once or twice as he was talking about how difficult it had been for Rachel he even gestured toward Elizabeth and said, “Oh yes, and Elizabeth too.” He finished his speech about the bravery and strength of Rachel. When he called Rachel to the stage, Elizabeth looked around and watched all of the people in the room, who were mostly white, as they applauded and cheered for Rachel. Elizabeth applauded too… and she forced herself to smile.

Then for a brief moment, Elizabeth thought that the man would also ask her to join them on the stage and she, too, would be recognized for her suffering and pain, and how she, too, ultimately did thrive and show resilience. This did not happen. The ceremony ended and Elizabeth sat still in her chair as she fought away tears. She refused to allow herself to cry or show pain or anger even though she felt devalued and dehumanized.

One colleague approached Elizabeth and said that she should have been recognized too. This certainly made tears try to push their way through, so she walked away quickly. Then she decided to approach a few other colleagues, who happened to be white, and asked them if they thought it was strange that only one of them would be recognized for overcoming such incredible difficulty. Her colleagues noted that it probably happened because the man giving the awards was friends with Rachel. So Elizabeth went home feeling dejected and, basically, feeling like shit.

Elizabeth began to allow herself to see reality. She remembered an interaction that she had experienced during her recovery that she had pushed aside at the time, forcing herself to see it as meaningless. Not long after the accident, and during a meeting with colleagues, one noted how he had been worried and that “we thought we were going to lose Rachel.”

Only Rachel.

Elizabeth began to think that other interactions with staff during which she was ignored or minimized were not random exceptions, but part of a larger, cultural pattern.

If you haven’t already guessed, Elizabeth is the black woman, and that black woman is me – Debbie. The unabbreviated title of this story is, “The Story of when a Black Life Didn’t Matter,” and I have not shared it with many people until now; I have kept it close, primarily, as I said, because I did not want to hurt Rachel’s feelings. But as I see more terrible things happening in the US and I see that we still struggle to have real conversations about race, especially with people who are white, I know that I have to share this story. I have to share it because this story is much larger than me. It is larger than my organization. This story speaks to the experiences people of color have been navigating for years. We have been consistently told in subtle, indirect ways, that our lives do not matter nearly as much as those of white people. We are constantly sent these messages, yet we are punished or reprimanded or labeled things like “angry black woman” if we show or verbalize how much it hurts and the discourse is then shut down. We are silenced by the discomfort of white people. Yet, these things happen to us, to people of color all the time and we want them to stop. But how can we expect this to stop or change if we never talk about our experiences and really look at how they happen?

I share the story because I want the world to be better and more equitable for all of us. I do not share it because I want sympathy. I don’t want to make people feel bad. I want people to change their behavior. I tell my story because my black life matters, too, and I want white people, all people, to consciously and subconsciously believe and demonstrate through their actions that my life matters. Otherwise, I will continue to be consistently overlooked and dismissed, or worse.