Check your privilege

  The word “privilege” is thrown around liberally these days. Almost like a modern get out of jail free card. It is to say "Yeah, sure, maybe I’m not doing much to improve my life but YOU need to check YOUR privilege." "You can read this so that means you’re more privileged than someone else." This is the 2022 trump card, an all encompassing “gotcha”, that renders any opponent weak in the knees, perilously close to abandoning hope.

Well in that vain, I think we do in fact check our privileges and remind ourselves that everything is, in itself, an incredible blessing (#blessed).

People might point to my wickedly charming smile, straight teeth and white skin to be my privilege. Perhaps the fact that I’ve never allowed myself to become ill by way of lifestyle factors, or even my having been born in Australia to intelligent and educated parents. Sure, these are instances of pleasant happenstance and I can’t change them any more than I can my terribly good wit, but these are not where I say my privilege lies.

My privilege is held in the moments of adversity I’ve overcome that others may never dream of experiencing. I am privileged to have the unwavering courage necessary to stand up to a doctor and tell them they would be discharging my mother prematurely, hence putting her directly at risk of further deterioration. I am privileged to have seen the inside of a drug and alcohol facility as a child visiting her mother, who had been mandated to stay. I mean, let’s be real, there’s no special trick to being born white. There is, however, a fine art to navigating the ever turbulent wants, needs, and emotions of an alcoholic narcissist when you’re simply a child. And, according to said narcissist, a bad child at that.

But you wouldn’t know, because you haven’t had the privilege of that experience.

I maintain gratitude for having been presented with opportunities to interact with police officers to protect my mother when I was in primary school. I hold genuine appreciation for having seen a seizure when I was young. It is upon a great pedestal that I place the hardships and adversities I’ve experienced, such that even using those words to describe the, leaves an uncomfortable knot in the pit of my stomach and the sour taste of deceit in my mouth. How can I truly call it unfortunate to be born into exactly this life? In what world would someone sincerely look to these encounters, with the emergency services, with drunkards in pubs, and everything in between, without some level of sincerest thanks? Having been born sans-bubble wrap, never offered the motivational speeches of "you can be anything" and "try hard and you can achieve", these replaced simply with the bleak yet accurate "life sucks then you die".

So yes, I acknowledge I was born conventionally attractive. I’m thin, I’m rich, I’m smart and I’m independent. I’m educated, I’m active, I care for my self. These are things most people hold in high regard. I, on the other hand, see also my shadows as beautiful. The ruined Christmases, the countless heartbreaks caused by relapses, the drunk drives to school in an unregistered vehicle, being called out of class to speak with the school counsellor because someone gave them a tip off. I am indebted to the universe for giving me the opportunity to feel this. To see this. To learn this. To live this.

My life is a privilege.

And, to that end, all life is a privilege. Your life is not a guarantee. You’re not here by accident.

What might you learn to love if you had the chance?