The Race Is Over. You Can Stop Running Now. (A Juneteenth Reflection)

Have you ever had a dream where you’re running a race? You’re pushing, your lungs are burning, your legs are screaming, but you keep going because you have to win. You finally cross the finish line, gasping, only to realize… no one is there. The crowd is gone. The announcements have been made. The race was over hours ago, but the news never reached you. So you just kept running, fueled by an urgency that was no longer real, exhausting yourself for a victory that was already yours.

This is the feeling of Juneteenth. It is the story of a freedom declared but not delivered. A truth whispered in Washington that took two long, brutal years to become a reality in Galveston, Texas. For 24 months, our people were kept running a race that was already over, their bondage extended by a silence that served only the oppressor.

This annual commemoration forces us to hold two things at once: the profound joy of liberation and the searing injustice of its delay. But today, I don't want to just talk about the history. I want to talk about the echo it left inside of us.

This feeling—this internal command to keep running, to stay vigilant, to never fully trust that you are safe—is a pattern. It is the Generational Armor we’ve inherited.

We are only five or six generations removed from the legal institution of American slavery. That is not a distant past. That is the world our great-great-grandmothers were born into. When every aspect of your life is controlled, when your body is not your own, and when your children can be sold away from you, parenting is not about teaching a child to thrive. It is about teaching a child to survive.

Each generation has passed down the most critical safety information for the times. Parenting under the shadow of enslavement, Jim Crow, police brutality, and systemic racism has been an act of transferring skills to minimize harm. It’s a lot like the protective parts we work with in therapy—parts of us that engage in behaviors that seem counterproductive now, but were created to keep us safe from a past danger. This armor was forged in the fire of a profound, terrified love. But love, armor is heavy. And sometimes, it protects us from dangers that are no longer there.

Here is where we slice through the noise to find the truth.

The lie our Generational Armor tells us is that our safety is conditional and our success is fragile. It’s the voice that says, “Don’t be too loud. Don’t want too much. Don’t draw attention. Apologize for your presence. Work twice as hard and expect half as much. Stay small, stay quiet, stay safe.”

This lie lives in your body. It’s the knot in your stomach when you’re about to ask for a raise. It's the tightness in your chest before you set a boundary with a family member. It’s the held breath in a boardroom where you are the only one. It’s the automatic impulse to defer, to soften, to make yourself agreeable, because your nervous system carries the memory of a time when disagreeableness could mean death. It's the exhaustion of running a race that is already over.

The truth is that their world is not our world. The armor they gave you was for a different war. The truth is, your safety is no longer contingent on your silence. Your power is not a threat to your existence; it is the guarantee of it. As we reflect on Juneteenth, we must internalize its ultimate message. As I’ve said before, “Juneteenth is really about the delay of freedom, but… the way that we reframe it, it’s a celebration of the total freedom of black Americans who were previously enslaved.” Your value is not in your ability to survive oppression, but in your audacity to thrive beyond its echoes.

Reclaiming your power requires moving from an inherited, automatic reaction to a conscious, present-day action. It’s time to assess what is truly a threat now.

Here is your new behavior: The Threat Audit.

The next time you feel that old fear rising—that urge to shrink, to over-explain, to people-please—I want you to pause. Take a breath. And ask yourself one, unflinching question:

“Is this threat real and present in this room, or is it the echo of a danger my ancestors faced?”

Is your boss a threat to your physical safety, or is your body reacting to the echo of the overseer? Will setting this boundary with your aunt get you cast out of the family, or are you wrestling with the echo of a time when community was the only key to survival?

If the threat is just an echo, plant both feet firmly on the ground. Feel the floor beneath you. Say to yourself, “I am here. I am safe in this moment. My freedom has already been won.” Then, you act from this reality. You state your fee. You say your “no.” You claim your seat at the table, not as a guest, but as someone who belongs.

Juneteenth is more than a holiday. It is a mandate. It reminds us that freedom is a multi-step process. First, it is declared legally. Then, the news must be delivered. Finally, and most importantly, it must be fully inhabited. Our ancestors were freed in 1865. Now, it is our work to free our nervous systems from the echoes of that time.

This is deep, powerful work, and you do not have to do it alone. It’s about learning to distinguish the past from the present so you can finally stop running. It’s about gently setting down the armor that has kept your lineage safe, and thanking it for its service, before you walk, unburdened, into the fullness of your life.

If you are ready to put down the weight and reclaim the peace that is your birthright, I invite you to join us. Let’s do this work together.

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