Why I Quit Full Time Nursing—And What I Learned From It

A year ago today I worked my last shift as a full time registered nurse in Waco. I resigned so I could move to Cambodia for a few months to teach English and work with a church, which was one of the best decisions I could have made.

When I returned to the States, I decided not to go back to full time nursing, which was also one of the best decisions I’ve made but one that surprised quite a few people around me. Currently, I’m PRN (as needed), and I love it. Here’s what I’ve learned since quitting full time nursing.

                                                          PRN

It seems crazy.

It seems crazy to quit a full time nursing job for a variety of reasons: my education is specialized and specific to nursing, nurses make a fair amount of money, and the schedule is, for the most part, convenient and flexible. Plus, nursing school was a lot of work.

At times I feel pressure from others and society in general to work full time. But if I’m being honest, most often the pressure I feel comes from within. “I’m young, healthy and able to work,” I tell myself. “I’m lazy for not working at the hospital more.” When I think these things, I have to walk myself through the steps I took to decide not to work full time. Step one is remembering:

Nursing drains me.

After a long shift a couple weeks ago, I came home and told my roommate that nursing drains me not just physically but also emotionally and even spiritually. Part of this is due to the nature of nursing—the emotional and spiritual components to caring for people—but part is also due to the way nursing plays to some of my greatest weaknesses.

For example, when I’m at work, I’m the point of contact for my patients’ care, and my patients are constantly changing. Being the point person for anything (or anyone) isn’t my natural bent, and neither is investing in short-term relationships with patients. Though these things are easily overcome with a little extra energy and effort, all the “little extra’s” start to add up.

However, since I quit working full time, I’m getting to live out my dream jobs, and that fills me up.

A couple months ago when a coworker asked what my dream job would be, I was excited and surprised to tell her, “I’m living them out now: working with at-risk students and writing." I paused before adding, "Nursing wasn’t ever part of my dream, but it finances what I really want to do.”

I regularly spend time writing and volunteering with students each week, and though they don't pay the bills, these activities are more than rewarding. They help fill me back up, and when I show up at the hospital I have a surplus, not a deficit.

This makes me a better nurse and a better coworker.

When I started back at the hospital after returning from Cambodia, I found the time away had allowed me to recover from burnout. I was less cynical, more compassionate, and could maintain my sense of humor even on poopy days (literal and figurative). I had the energy to help coworkers if they need a hand, which I’m extra glad I could do because I work with some of the best nurses out there! Though I still have rough days at work, I’ve found having a few extra days in between shifts keeps the burnout at bay. When I’m not burned out, I’m closer to being the nurse I want to be, the coworker I want to be, and the person I want to be.

Overall, I’m less stressed working PRN.

I’m less stressed when I’m at work. I like that it’s my choice to sign up for a shift instead of having to show up a certain number of times a week and work certain weekends. It helps me not dread going to work and not blame the workplace if I have a bad day—because I chose to go in that day. Nobody forced me.

I’m also less anxious when I’m not at work. Fewer shifts and more time to do what I love means less stress. I’m learning a season with a slower pace of life is perhaps the healthiest thing for me right now—physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.

Because of what I've experienced, I'm redefining success.

I've struggled with guilt over not having a full-time job, and I've questioned my work ethic and my sanity. I've had to decide what success would be to me. Success could be the numbers in my bank account, the letters after my name, the hours on my time card, and the reputation as a hard-working employee. Or it could be who I am and how I am.

It's worth it.

In the eyes of a money-chasing, corporate-ladder-climbing society, my lifestyle makes no sense. But to me? My lifestyle is wildly successful. Life probably won’t always allow me work PRN, but for now, I’m so grateful for the chance to live my dreams.

To me, quitting full time nursing is worth it. It’s worth it to get to follow my passions and serve students. It's worth it to allow myself time and space to reevaluate what career fits my talents and gifts. It’s worth it to be a better nurse and a better coworker. It’s worth it because I’m convinced my choice to quit full time nursing is helping me become the person I was made to be.

Entitlement and Gifts

It snuck up on me slowly, like a ninja or a stealth aircraft, or a ninja on a stealth aircraft. It ambushed me successfully as I sat down for lunch yesterday at work. The day was busy and stressful, and it was nearly three o'clock when I finally found myself in the break room placing my tupperware in the microwave. When the microwave beeped, I grabbed my food and suddenly realized how hungry and worn out I was.

I deserve this. 

I glanced at the numbers on my watch, nerves still wound up from the craziness on the floor. After all my hard work, not taking lunch until three, taking care of all our patients, two of whom had been transferred to the ICU. Finally, lunch. I deserve this.

Right behind this sense of entitlement came shock, and then humility. I deserve this? 

The term "deserve" jumped out like a red flag waving in front of my face. I exhaled and lowered myself into a black plastic chair and forked baked spaghetti into my mouth while reliving an afternoon in Cambodia:

It was hot. I was tired. Sweat ran down my face and dripped off my chin. I parked my bike by the landlord's house and walked around to the stairs to my apartment. They were steep, but today they seemed steeper than normal. Longer than normal. Why was it so far up to my apartment? Why did I have to climb such steep steps to get to a home that didn't even have air conditioning? I hoped the electricity was working so I could at least stand in front of the fan.

As I climbed the stairs I marveled about how different life was in America. The air conditioning. The refrigerators (sometimes two) in every home. The ability to control the climate inside, and our practice of sleeping with blankets because we keep it so cold. Elevators, escalators. Ice-cold Dr. Pepper. I marveled at how my students and friends in Cambodia didn't long for such things because either they didn't know they existed or they had never lived with these things before. They didn't even know to miss these things.

I was nearly at the top of the staircase, grasping the rail and gazing out over rooftops to inspect the Mekong's appearance that day, when I recognized it. There it was, bold and blaring in front of me, as clear as the coconut trees by the river.

Entitlement.

Each day when I felt tired and worn out, hot and sweaty, I would think about American comforts. I couldn't not think about them; they're the context in which I was raised. I would think about how much I missed them and how difficult it was to adjust to life without them.

For some reason though, on this day, as I willed my legs to bring me up those steep, brown stairs, I realized just because I am from America does not mean I am entitled to American comforts. Having lived with air conditioning and my own car and wifi for so many years did not entitle me to that way of life. Until that moment, I had been holding the American standard of living as the standard to which I was entitled. Subconsciously, my thinking was, "Cambodians have never lived that way, so of course they don't miss it, but I do. Life is harder for me in their country than it is for them. They are not entitled to comforts like air conditioning in their homes because they never had it in the first place."

Wham! Reality check.

I am not entitled to any of those things. My background doesn't entitle me to air conditioning, my childhood doesn't entitle me to refrigerators and ovens, and the country listed on my passport doesn't mean I deserve to have access to Dr. Pepper. I am not entitled to anything the people in Cambodia are not entitled to.

Furthermore, I am not even entitled to what I may think Cambodians are entitled to. We, as humans, Cambodian or American, are entitled to very little. Cambodians aren't entitled to wealth or healthy families or homes or farms or jobs. Neither am I. Neither are any of us.

Truthfully, we aren't even entitled to life. We've done nothing to earn it, to deserve it, to pay for it.

Recently, I heard a woman talk about how she realized she didn't deserve anything but death, and as a Christian she didn't even get that. We get so much we have no right to, and we don't even get the one thing we do deserve because Jesus is merciful.

I don't deserve any of this.

As I finished lunch yesterday, I stared out the window at the river of cars on I-35, and both my complaints and my entitlement were cut short. I thought about how I didn't deserve the oxygen I was breathing or the food I was eating. I thought about the thousands, perhaps millions, of people who didn't eat that day, and I remembered I was no more entitled to this hot meal - one of three meals I was eating in a day - than they were.

To clarify, I don't mean we shouldn't have food and life and clean water as human rights or the ability to vote and express opinions as civil rights. I mean the idea I (or you), as an individual, am entitled to comfort, an easy life, a good work day, a happy marriage, and a healthy body, when the rest of the world is dealing with all of those problems and more. Because all of those issues simply come along with being human.

Discomfort is part of the deal on Earth. I am no more entitled to comfort - even if what I would call comfort is different from what a Cambodian would call comfort - than the person who lives down the street from my apartment in Cambodia.

Hardship is part of the deal on Earth. I am no more entitled to access to clean water than those who walk miles to fetch murky water from a river.

Physical death is part of the deal on Earth. I am no more entitled to life than the patient dying in a developing country's hospital from a condition which is easily curable in the States.

Sickness, pain, depression, death. They are all part of the deal here on Earth.

We have been gifted so many things. Our every breath, our ability to move our limbs and function today, our meals and beverages and hot showers and cold-aired houses.

Spiritually, we have been gifted the offer of eternal life.

Eternal life!

We accept all these other gifts so easily, mostly without consciously receiving them. Here, though, is a gift of another caliber. The gift of not receiving the one thing we do indeed deserve: Death, eternally. Separation from the One who loves us most. The gift of an offer of Life, eternally. Being in the presence of the One who loves us most, who did receive for us the one thing we deserved, who created and hears and cares for us.

We receive all these other gifts so passively, and we begin to believe we are entitled to them. But this gift of Life - this takes a conscious thought to receive because it isn't a thing but a Person. A relationship. The greatest gift of all given out of the greatest love of all. He offers the grand gift of salvation and the daily offer to abide in Him - to sit in His presence and live and walk and breathe with Him. The very exact opposite thing we are entitled to.

All we have to say to Him is yes.

Yes.

Life as a Cambodian Christian: An Interview

Though I’m no longer in Cambodia physically, part of my heart will always remain in Kratie, Cambodia. I wish I could bring everyone to Cambodia to visit the country and meet these people I love so dearly. For now, I’ll introduce you through writing. Here’s an interview with two young Cambodian women about faith, the future, childhood memories and more!

Meet the Interviewees

Srey Neang (left) and Cheata (right)

Srey Neang (pronounced sry [rhymes with “try”] ning) and Cheata (pronounced like “cheetah”) are two advanced English language students and active members of Love of Christ Church. Srey Neang was born in a village quite a distance from Kratie, and she lives with her aunt and uncle in Kratie so she can attend school in town. Cheata lives with her parents and siblings down the road from the church. I’ll let them do the rest of their introductions!

(I’ve edited some for grammar, but most of the interview I’ve left as-is because I love the way Srey Neang and Cheata talk and tell stories. That’s part of what makes talking with them so fun!)

Q: Can you tell me a little bit about yourself?

Srey Neang: My name is Srey Neang. I am 17 years old. I’m in the 10th grade, and I am the youngest of seven siblings.

Cheata: I am Cheata. I am 16 years old, in 10th grade, and I have three siblings. I am the second [oldest].

How did you become a Christian?

Srey Neang: Punlork [cousin] invited me to go to the church three years ago. I studied English there, but I not study Bible. I wasn’t interested in Jesus, but one time I was studying with Mommy [Kathy Manoto, missionary], and we study about the job of our parents. And I don’t know the job of my father, and after that I [was] upset. 

After we study, Mommy asked, “What happened to you?”

I said nothing. And I said, “I not have father.”

She said, “Even [though] you don’t have a good father on the earth, you have the best Father in heaven. You also have Daddy [Archie Manoto, missionary] as your father.” And after that I try to learn Bible. Then I study at life group and come worship on Sunday. At life group Teacher Aileen [missionary] asked me if I believed Jesus is the only One, and I say yes, and after that I believed.

Cheata: I saw Srey Neang at school and she invited me to study English. I said, “No, I don’t like to study with the people who believe in Jesus. The people who believe in Jesus, they crazy.” [I thought they were strange because] even when they eat rice, they thank Jesus. They pray. Why [are they] like that? My mom is the one who gives me rice, not Jesus!

A few weeks later, I stopped in front of the church to call Srey Neang to go to rincoo [tutoring], and the [missionary] teachers are friendly and smiling at me. I said I would study there. I go, but I not understand what they are saying because I not know English yet. I told Neang I don’t want to study there because I don’t know [English], but she said she was like that before. So I stayed. When I saw Teacher Aileen talking with other friends…I would listen and get some words and write them down in my book, like “why” and “broken” and translate in Khmer. I got Teacher Aileen’s phone number, and I would talk with Teacher Aileen and practice with her. Then Teacher Aileen invited me to life group. And I started going to life group and knew Jesus.

When I could talk in English a lot before, Pastor had e-camp [annual English camp], and Srey Neang invited me to go, but I was shy, but I also want to go. It was so happy because [there were] a lot of games. After e-camp, some [of my] friends get baptized, but I not yet decide to get baptized (this was 2013). Daddy [Pastor Archie] also ask [me], but I just think about it first. In 2014, I decide to get baptized with Srey Neang and other friends, too.

What did your family think when you first became a Christian?

Srey Neang: The first time when they know [I am a Christian], they all reject [me]. They don’t want me to believe in Him. Even my grandfather. After that, my aunt told me, “If you believe in Jesus, you cannot live in my house anymore.” But I thank God that my aunt’s friend believes in Jesus, and she told my aunt about Jesus, and she [my aunt] still allow me to go to church and [she] not say anything bad anymore.

When I went home [to my hometown], I told to my sister and my family the Good News. My brother and sister listen to me, but my mother was angry with me one time and said, “If you believe in Jesus, don’t call me ‘Mother’ anymore.”

I want[ed] to give up, but when I want[ed] to give up, I talk with someone, and the topic is “Don’t give up on God because God never give up on you.”

After that, I start to share the Good News again and again to my family, and [I told] my mother about the reason I not go to pagoda [Buddhist temple] and worship, and she listen to me. And my family, they also know about it [the Gospel], and my aunt in another province get so angry because she not want me to believe in Jesus because it’s so crazy and not our culture. But I still believe in Jesus because I know He is the One who saves me.

The first time is difficult, but after that God solved the problem, and now it’s okay.

Cheata: My family—they [were] happy when I started to study there [at the church], and they so happy to see I can speak English well. When they know I believe in Jesus, they not stop me from going to the church. One time I share the Gospel to my sister, and I told her about how God created the world and the man and the woman—and the people who don’t believe in Jesus, where will they go? And she was laughing at me. I told her the people who don’t believe in Jesus will go to hell; they won’t be able to go to heaven. She was laughing at me, saying, “So many people don’t believe in Jesus and will go to hell, and the hell will get full! Cannot fit any more people!” I told her it’s just in the Bible, and she still not believe. But I thank God I can share with her. 

My cousin and my aunt and uncle, they call me, “Yesu! Yesu! [Jesus! Jesus!]” Now I have new name in my house also: it’s "Jesus." But I remember that verse—it says if the people say bad things about you in My name, you will be blessed.

My mom—now she always wants me to change my mind. She always calls me to worship, and I say no to her, and she a little bit sad and angry. Like she don’t think I really believe in Jesus. But I’m still praying that my mom and dad and yeah, my family, that they will believe in Jesus one day. Because my mom—she hear the Gospel three times already. So I hope she will accept Jesus one day. I’m scared that they will not know Jesus. But I trust in the Lord, that He will save my family.

What are difficulties you face as a Christian in Cambodia?

Srey Neang: The most difficult is my mother. Because sometimes she tell me, “Don’t call her 'Mother,'” like that. And my relatives don’t want me to believe in Jesus.

Cheata: I was thinking that now my mom not know I really believe in Jesus. Maybe she just think I go and learn [English] and not really believe in Jesus. I’m scared that one day, she will really get angry [when] she really know that I really believe in Jesus. And she will stop me from go [to church]. So I’m praying now that even she stop [me from going] I still continue.

If you could tell Christians around the world one thing, what would it be?

Srey Neang: I will tell others, “Don’t give up because all the things you do are not useless. You will receive the things from God when you meet Him. Because we on the earth sometimes want to give up because we face the problem.”

Cheata: I will tell them about my life and I will tell them about the things I thought were impossible. But I keep on doing that and it’s become possible. I will encourage them, especially the people who think something is impossible for them to do…I will just tell them that if you not give up on that thing, if you keep on going, it will be possible.

What do you want to do when you grow up?

Srey Neang: Since I was young, I want to be a doctor. But I don’t know the plan of God. I want to be a doctor because my mom [is] always sick. And when she sick, she has to pay a lot of money. And my relatives, also sick and they must pay a lot of money. So I want to be a doctor to help my family. But now I want many things: teacher, police man, tour guide and also the ladies on the plane [flight attendant]. But [what I want] the most is doctor. Also your daddy (who is a doctor) write me [a note] that he will pray for me [and said] “Don’t give up.” I [was] really encouraged. Also Pastor asked about what we want to do the future. He also encourage me, “Don’t give up because of the money. God will provide [for] you.” I think about how my family is poor. And I so discouraged. Because the Khmer (Cambodian) doctor must study for 8 years. I think it is impossible. Because I know my family cannot find money for me.

Cheata: Doctor. Because I can help the people around me, especially my family if they get sick. If other doctor cannot help her [my mom], I will help her what I can. I will do what I can. Yeah. Help the poor people. [But] I think I cannot be doctor because I’m not a good student. I want to have just simple work so I can help my family. Even tik tik, ban [translation: even a little bit is good]. And I really want to go to another country to serve Jesus. Like you. Yeah, that’s what I am thinking.

Tell me one story from your childhood.

Srey Neang: When I was young, people in my hometown have wedding, and I go with my aunt [by bicycle]. That time the bicycle is not updated like now, and doesn’t have something to cover the [top of] the tire. [I sat on the back of the bike] and I just see the tire moving, and I think, “What’s that? What will happen if I put my leg there?” And then… *laughter…and more laughter*

Me: What happened with the bicycle?

Srey Neang: The bicycle?! It’s my leg hurt, not the bicycle. Why you ask about the bicycle and not my leg?!

Me: But the bicycle didn’t fall?

Srey Neang: No, just hurt my leg. *Shows me scar* Because I’m small and I didn’t know…*more laughter*

Cheata: One night I slept outside with my dad and my younger sister, and we slept on the hammock. One up [on top] and one down [below the other]. And my dad, he sleep on the side to protect us. The first night, I sleep up and she sleep under me. The next night, I sleep under her. And that time, she pee on me. Yeah, I woke up, and my dad saw me wake up, and he asked why, and I told him “Have rain.” But she pee on me!! I tell them I will never let her sleep above me because she will pee on me again!

What is your favorite thing to do when you have free time?

Cheata: Singing Christian song. [Cheata has a great voice and is in our Sunday worship team.]

Srey Neang: Sleep. *laughter* The thing I like to do most is listen to music. The kind of sound that’s soft and slow. Sometimes the rap song. Khmer or English. [My favorite] Christian song is “Sing.”

Why should people come to Cambodia?

Cheata: To see what Cambodia looks like…

Srey Neang: They want to see me! Because I’m beautiful! …I’m just kidding.

If you have one superpower, what would it be?

Cheata: I would like, if I want to go somewhere, just one second, I will be there. You know that? Just one second only and then I am there.

Srey Neang: Just a funny one: I want just hide myself, like no one can see me. Because sometimes I want to play seek and hide, and I can hide anywhere. And no one can see me! I [will] always win! No one can find me!

How can other Christians pray for you?

Cheata: Pray for my study. And especially my faith. You know, sometimes—especially when I’m sad—I feel I don’t want to share the Gospel. I don’t know why. In my mind, [sometimes I also don’t want to keep] coming to the church, but I keep on coming so, yeah. Something like that.

Srey Neang: Pray I can stand strong in my faith with God, and pray my family and my friends will believe in Jesus and follow Him. Yeah, only this. Because if I fail [in my faith], my family will not trust me anymore. For example, if in the future, my family believe in Jesus, but I stop following Him, they also will stop because I am the first one who followed Him. So just pray I will have strong faith in God.

Conclusion

I hope you enjoyed our conversation as much as I did! Hearing the hearts of these two young women humbles, encourages, and challenges me in my walk with Christ. The Lord is doing great things in Cambodia. Please keep Srey Neang, Cheata, and the other members of Love of Christ Church in your prayers.

*To know how you can pray for the church more specifically, please send me an email or a text!

**The English camp Cheata mentioned will be in August this year. To make the camp affordable, participants are only charged a fraction of the true cost. If the Lord leads, please consider sponsoring a student to go to e-camp and grow in/begin their walk with Christ! This year students’ parents are also invited, which is a huge opportunity for the prayers of Srey Neang, Cheata, and others to be answered for their parents to hear the Gospel again and respond. Sponsorships are $35/camper. Contact me for more info.

Growing Up as a Banana

“Yellow on the outside, white on the inside.” That’s what the term “banana” means. You guessed it: I'm Chinese American. 

I grew up in a primarily Caucasian Houston neighborhood, and though I wouldn’t say I faced discrimination, there are a few things I experienced simply because I wasn’t white. I dismissed those memories as unimportant for a long time, but today I want to recognize them because they do matter—especially as a child, which is when these experiences occurred.

 Memory #1: Playground Woes

We were playing a game of tag on the playground at the YMCA during my brother’s baseball practice. My sister and I joined the other players’ younger siblings to swing, show off our monkey bar skills, and finally play tag. It was all fun and games until one of the little boys asked what my ethnicity was.

“I’m Chinese American,” small, elementary-aged me replied proudly.

“Oh! China!” came the quick response.

Before I knew what was happening, this little boy egged on every child on the playground to chant with him: “Chi-na! Chi-na! Chi-na!” (And not in a kind, we’re-cheering-you-on way.)

Unfortunately, I happened to be “it” at the time, so I tried extra hard to tag another person and get rid of this unnecessary attention. Confused and upset, I just couldn’t catch them, and all of a sudden, as kids do, this little boy changed the rules of the game. 

“You can’t climb on the playground when you’re ‘it,’” he announced. “Only the other kids can climb.”

The rule change was accepted without second thought.

Thus began the real frustration. Somehow my younger sister also ended up being “it” (another unfair rule change in the middle of our game?), so the two of us ran in circles on the ground while the other boys and girls stood on the structure, taunting us by hanging off platforms until we got close, and then scurrying back into the middle of the play structure, out of reach. 

Over and over it happened. The little ringleader boy would stick his foot out. We’d see it and feverishly lunge toward it to tag him, and he’d pull back just in time and retreat to safety to laugh at us. All the while, the chanting continued.

“Chi-na! Chi-na! Chi-na!”

Suddenly, baseball practice was over. Parents came to pick up their children, and everyone dispersed. Practice ended, the game of tag ended, and so did my innocent pride for my heritage. I was humiliated.

I held my dad’s hand as we walked across the grass toward the parking lot.

“What country were they shouting?” he asked gently.

“China,” I mumbled, and then all was quiet.

Up until now, that’s the last time I spoke of this event to anyone, ever. Shame has that effect. As a child, I learned many things that day, but most of all, I learned to be ashamed my heritage was different.

Memory #2: The Eyes

This isn’t necessarily a single memory as it is a collection of them. It happened so many times I can’t even count or recount them all. But basically each time was the same:

Chinese anything came up in conversation—Chinese culture, Chinese names, Chinese food—and one of my little Caucasian friends would impulsively put their fingers to their eyes and squint to make it look like they had “China eyes.” Sometimes gibberish would come out of their mouths as they spoke “Chinese.”

Occasionally moms and dads would scold their children, but most of the time parents weren’t present. To say it was awkward is an understatement. Sometimes the kids didn’t even know I was Chinese, and after a few initial times of telling them to “please stop because I am Chinese and it isn’t nice to make fun of people,” my spunk shrunk and I shut up.

Now, much later in life, every once in a while close friends and I will joke about my eyes, but there’s a definite line between mutual joking with a friend and mocking someone’s (or a whole people group’s) appearance.

It took me a lot longer than the playground incident to learn this lesson as a child, but learn it I did: it’s not cool to look different from other people. I learned to be ashamed of my appearance because I wasn’t white.

Here and Now

Were those children trying to make me ashamed of who I was? No, I don’t believe so. Children do and say inappropriate things all the time. That’s how they learn. I’m sure I said and did plenty of offensive things too when I was young. There is grace for all.

Why then am I even bringing this up? Because although there is indeed grace, there’s also a very real impact these events had on my perception of self. Today, I am so grateful for the diversity of my upbringing. I’m proud of the fact I grew up in a Chinese American family, and I’m proud of my heritage. Yet it’s taken some time to regain this pride.

I know now the “yellow on the outside” isn’t something to be ashamed of; it’s something to be treasured. I am not less beautiful because I am Asian, and the unique heritage I carry is a gift and an honor.

In a time when there is a huge push for “tolerance” and “acceptance,” perhaps it’s wise to remember the actions which seem most insignificant often have the deepest and most long-lasting impact on those around us.

Thanks for reading! There are many issues I didn’t address in this post, and I would love to hear your thoughts on them:

• Is there an imbalance between the passion around ballot issues for equality and the willingness to identify & adjust our personal, everyday biases and shaming practices?
• If so, how do we address everyday shame-creating actions/conversations?
• How do we help young people process these shameful moments/interactions?
• What are ways childhood experiences shaped how you view(ed) yourself (race-related or not)?
• How did you process these experiences?

Leave a comment, send an email, or come share a cup of coffee with me and tell me what you think in person!