Since 2021, I’ve been working with Jacksonville-based nonprofit WeaveTales. The organization works with refugees and immigrants to tell their stories as a way to educate and correct misconceptions. Essentially, dissolving the us-them attitude and replacing it with human-human connection so that we can create more welcoming and safer communities.

Honestly, it’s my dream job. I’ve been able to build friendships and work alongside some incredible people, including the organization’s founder who is an inspirational national leader and former refugee from Iraq. I’ve had opportunities to write and edit stories for publication, co-develop programs, organize community events, secure grant funding, engage in dialogue in the digital space, write speeches, train people in public speaking and writing, and meet so many people from around the world who now call America their home. WeaveTales has been like a gift from God since the pandemic put a pause on my global travels.

But if I’m being honest, sometimes I don’t feel like I’m qualified or even “allowed” to tell other people’s stories. A lot of their experiences I won’t ever relate to because I was born here and people see and treat me differently.

For example, I’m working with a man originally from an African country to co-write a piece about his fears being a black immigrant in America. In light of the things we’ve been witnessing for years, I’m very aware of the sensitivity of this issue and the fact that my own skin color might raise some eyebrows about who’s writing the story.

I feel compelled to pause here and acknowledge my privilege. I’m half-Filipino and half-white, but at first glance a majority of people will identify me as a white woman. I don’t feel bad about that because it wasn’t my choice, but at the same time I don’t deny or discredit the passes I get in life because of my complexion. And these passes are very real, not just in the US, but all over the world. I’ve seen it firsthand. So I’m aware of how sensitive it can be for a white woman to help tell a black man’s story, and that’s something I wrestled with a lot while writing.

However, I’m reminded that the people I work with are trusting me to help share their stories. They’re giving me permission and authority to co-write with them, sometimes because they aren’t yet confident in their English to write without being misunderstood. As a white American, I have the opportunity to reach a broader audience that an immigrant from Iraq, Sudan, or China may not normally be able to. People who may not notice their words just might give me a moment to translate their stories. And if there’s an opportunity to educate and bring people closer by facilitating understanding and breaking down misled biases, then I want to do a good job in sharing these stories. It’s a huge privilege and responsibility.

I’m qualified because I’m trusted.

I’m qualified because I have experience.

I’m qualified because I have privilege, access and a platform.

So when I write these stories, my goal is to connect. I want to connect people with people, connect their ideas and dreams so that it’s easier to relate to and love one another. Stories are the things that connect us, and if nothing else I’m a pretty decent storyteller.

---

Today’s awkward selfie is a post-gym shot with a urgent need for a shower. But first I’ve gotta get that daily writing in.

Note: If you’re feeling sensitive about something in this post, I challenge you to pinpoint why it might trigger your response. And if you feel compelled to sound off regarding things mentioned in this post, please email me directly.