Emotional labour and educating others

I thought this article from the Washington Post (by Cole Arthur Riley) was highly thought-provoking:  "Black History Month is over. Thank goodness."  A couple of excerpts:  

Over the course of February, I received 21 requests to speak or write for Black History Month. Of those requests, 18 were from White people.

I’m not alone. Every year, what is intended to be a time of remembrance and storytelling becomes a month of additional labor — usually with very little notice — for Black people. It becomes a season when we must sell our stories and ideas to sate the appetites of White folk who want to feel as though they’ve done the right thing.

Whiteness is permitted the freedom to explore (or neglect) its history on its own terms, spreading the practice out lavishly throughout the year, without deadline or expectation. Black people are expected, in just four weeks, to do everything we can to preserve our stories and take up the space we are often denied... 

To pass on and inherit our stories can be beautiful, but when we are expected to teach the outsider — to convince the outsider of our intellect, our contribution — Black History Month becomes less a tradition of memory and inheritance, and much more a path to exhaustion under the relentless weight of what Toni Morrison called the “White gaze.” “Black excellence,” at its worst, can devolve into the mere act of proving that Black people are capable of the excellent. Or worse still, of proving that Black people are human at all.

For me, the article was thought-provoking -- not only for the reminder about the additional emotional (and actual) labour required from Black people during February (not to mention other times of the year) to "educate" the rest of us about their history and experiences -- but because it provided me with an "ah-ha!" moment with regard to sharing my own experiences about pregnancy loss, infertility and childlessness. 

There are days, weeks & months dedicated to these subjects, of course -- and there are some amazing people out there who work tirelessly to create programming around then and to bring these important issues to the attention of policymakers and the fortunate majority who don't have to think about these things -- unless and until they are suddenly affected by them personally. And goodness knows, people need educating about them!!  (Obviously, the parallels here, between Black History Month and Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month/Day -- or National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW), or World Childless Week (WCW) -- only go so far. I don't see a huge demand from people outside of our communities to hear our stories. On the contrary...!)  

But I'll admit my record on taking part, on posting something on my blog (or -- less often -- social media) is hit and miss. I often have the best intentions, but then Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day (or month) or NIAW or WCW rolls around, and... I've got nothing. And I feel guilty about it. There are so many people out there doing so many great things for our community(s), and I feel like I should contribute, be a part of it. But sometimes I'm just too tired (and too afraid of the consequences of "outing" myself) to make the effort, lol.  

If I do anything, I'm more likely to do it here, on my blog.  Let's face it, posting here is much less of a risk. For the most part, it's preaching to the converted. But making myself vulnerable by posting about these aspects of my life on social media? Scary stuff!  It's not like the (other) people in my life don't know that I don't have kids, and some of them even know why. But very few of them know the full story. 

In recent years, I HAVE started posting a few memes, etc., on my Facebook & Instagram accounts for Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Week (and International Bereaved Mothers Day). But posting publicly about NIAW & WCW -- let alone sharing about my own experiences with infertility and childlessness -- still feels more risky to me. Pregnancy loss is common enough (1 in 4 women experience it) that there's at least some level of awareness and sympathy, I think. The majority of people do become parents, and perhaps the idea of losing a much-wanted child -- however painful that is to think about -- is something they can relate to, at least a little. Having difficulty conceiving a child -- or not winding up with a much-wanted child at all, despite all your best efforts -- is less common statistically (albeit much more common than most people realize), less visible/recognized and thus not as easy to relate to. 

I've recognized that posting about my story outside of this blog leaves me vulnerable. But I've never thought of it before in terms of emotional labour. (Although I've written before about the emotional labour required of childless people in a pronatalist world.)  Like I said, it's labour that's badly needed, and I am so very thankful for those among us who have taken it upon themselves to educate others and make a difference. There's a lot of misinformation and stereotyping out there about loss, infertility and childlessness. If people are going to learn something about our lives and experiences, our preferences, our concerns -- to paraphrase Riley, to be convinced of our humanity -- it's probably best that they hear it directly from us instead of through (or at the very least in addition to) a third party (e.g., a doctor, researcher, social scientist, etc. -- however knowledgeable & well meaning), right?  

But putting ourselves forward in this way, on these highly difficult, emotional issues -- "[taking] up the space we are often denied" -- does take a toll -- and I don't think it should be required of us, or that we should feel obliged to participate, simply because of the hand that we've been dealt. It's OK to sit on the sidelines sometimes! (Most especially if we are newly grieving and adjusting to a life that's very different from the one we had expected and planned for ourselves. Or even just if we're having a bad day/week/month/year.) 

What do you think?