It’s the slap in the face that comes out of nowhere:

“Oh…this again.”
“Great, well now this is just going to be in my head the whole day/week/month.”
“Why do I have to keep dealing with this?”
It’s the mental marathon of debating with yourself when you consider speaking up:

“Should I say something?”
“Will they think I’m just being too sensitive?”
“Am I being too sensitive?”
“Should I be doing research on what to say to prove that I’m not being sensitive?”
“But I don’t really have the headspace to deal with this right now…”
“But also, if I don’t say something, nothing’s going to change.”
“But also, is this even my responsibility?!”
“Ok let me run through every scenario in my head so I can emotionally prepare for whichever way this conversation goes.”
“How do I frame this in a way that they won’t get defensive immediately”
“Just don’t start off with ‘That’s racist’. It never ends well.”
It’s the suffocating feeling that comes immediately after deciding to speak up:

“Shit. Here we go.”
“I didn’t realise I was holding my breath.”
“When did my heart rate get so fast?”
It’s the anger that builds up when they don’t take it well:

“Did they actually just say that?!”
“Breathe. Don’t turn into The Hulk.”
“I’m fuming but I gotta keep it together or I’ll look like the bad guy.”
It’s the painful acceptance of defeat when you realise there’s no changing their mind:

“Ok, speaking up just made me feel worse…”
“Why did I even bother?”
“This is so tiring.”
It’s the relief followed by the exhaustion when they actually listen:
