We all can agree that being a creative entrepreneur can be mentally taxing. You have to deal with the concrete difficulties like figuring out how to declare your business expense on your taxes, plus the soft difficulties like how to stay genuine to your art as it becomes increasingly monetized.
But like most things, being a creative entrepreneur is even more complicated when you do it while Black. Not only do you still have to deal with the taxes and staying true to yourself, but there’s also another specter lurking in the background. The realization that not everyone made it out of your neighborhood. The ones who could paint, sew, sing, or write better than you, but fell victim to the societal traps that disproportionately plague the Black community.
It’s called survivor’s guilt, the feeling that it is wrong to have survived a traumatic event when so many others didn’t. And I’m sure it’s messing with a lot of our heads.
I grew up in a trailer park in Goldsboro, North Carolina. Gunshots weren’t uncommon to hear at night. Still, creativity blossomed. I knew kids who could battle rap like they were Eminem in 8 Mile, who could draw anime characters so flawlessly I couldn’t believe they weren’t tracing, and those who could write poetry that wrenched my little 13 year old soul out of my body.
I can’t help but wonder sometimes why it was me who managed to climb out on the back of my art, which was writing. Why was I the one who was able to find an education, jobs, and business success? That’s when the guilt sets in.
It’s sort of like imposter syndrome, but more insidious. I sometimes feel as if I’m taking someone else’s spot, but for Black people, there seem to be so few spots. My mind circles around thoughts that I’ve somehow tricked people into thinking I’m talented enough to deserve something so few Black people get– a chance to support themselves through their creative endeavors.
To really understand how this might impact Black creative entrepreneurs, I wanted to first explain how it functions.
A psychologist named Stephen Joseph identified three types of survivor’s guilt when he studied survivors of a sinking ship in 1987. It really put things into perspective.
Guilt for surviving while others didn’t: “I don’t deserve to be the only person who made it out of my neighborhood. Some of them probably look at my posts that highlight my wins, and call me bougie and stuck up in group chats with other folks from my high school. It’s wrong for me to be “bragging” about the dope things I’ve seen and done, when none of them have been able to experience that too.”
Guilt for what you did to survive: “I’m such a sellout. I could’ve used my platform to focus more on racial issues or affordable housing, but instead I went straight for writing goofy articles about nerdy subjects. I should’ve been embracing my culture more.”
Guilt for what you didn’t do to help others: “If I’d just stayed in my neighborhood longer, I could’ve helped more people realize their potential. I could’ve been a teacher or a counselor or even a mentor. Instead, I’m sitting up in this upscale dining establishment taking iPhone pictures of my brunch.”
I realized I’ve been enjoying the whole buffet survivor’s guilt has to offer.
As our businesses grow, we’ll continue to struggle with the guilt of our own success until we learn how to acknowledge it and address it. I’m still learning how to tackle it, but here’s what’s been helping me lately.
I like to think back to that 10-year old boy in the trailer park, sitting in his room writing in his journal after school. I picture that room with the busted television, the radio, and the red bunk bed I shared with my younger brother. I try to remember what I was thinking while I was writing.
I wasn’t thinking about how quickly I could abandon all my friends and go play food critic in a bigger city. I wasn’t thinking about how I was better than anyone, or smarter than anyone, or more talented than anyone.
The only thing I thought about was this compulsion, this pull to write and record my thoughts, my stories, and the images in my imagination.
We’ve all been in that spot before. That’s the source of the flow of our creative energy. It’s what drove us to power through, determined to cling to our art for survival like a life raft.
Lots of folks wanted to. We might not be the ones who clung the hardest, or even the ones who had the best life raft. We’re just the ones who did. That kiddo writing in his journal is innocent, and he’s still the kiddo that’s internally driving me to continue to create today.
In order to ensure survivor’s guilt doesn’t paralyze us, we need to continually make authentic connections with the child artist in all of us.
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Anne
I loved reading this and I don’t cry easily