God Bless This Mess(71)

That’s when I mindlessly and ignorantly recited a word in the lyrics that should have never come out of my mouth: I sang the N-word.

If you had asked me when I was sober, I would have told you that of course saying the N-word is wrong and not in my vocabulary. A white person should never say it, under any circumstances, even when singing along and it’s right there in the lyrics. But on that night, I was so drunk that I truly didn’t know I said it. When I saw a few comments pop up like, “Did she really just say that?” I had no idea what people were talking about.

Then a whole bunch of comments came flooding in, saying that they heard me say it, and I reacted very defensively. “I would never say that word!” I yelled into my streaming iPhone camera, and then I went into a state of total drunken, nervous embarrassment. I tried to defend my drunken honor.

It was only after I woke up the next morning that I truly realized what I’d done.

I didn’t have a couple of DMs. I had lots of DMs.

I really had said the N-word. And the harsh reality of how much it was blowing up online was like getting a big bucket of ice dumped on me to sober me up. It wasn’t just in my comments. This thing went viral. The news media picked it up. I woke to messages on my phone from my agents, my attorney, my friends . . . What had I just done? It was like I woke up in a stranger’s bed and didn’t know how I got there, or what had happened. None of it made any sense to me.

It was so out of character, and so very wrong—all kinds of wrong.

I felt sick. I started crying uncontrollably. I wanted to apologize to everyone and talk about it, but I also knew that I had stepped into something that was much bigger than I knew how to handle. Plus, I was in no shape to talk. I needed to fully understand what I’d done, the repercussions of it. I went to my room and turned off all the lights and played a prayer in my headphones. A calming prayer.

I wanted to address it, and I considered going on Instagram Live and talking about it right away, but I decided I needed to wait a beat. I needed to gain some composure and understanding before opening my mouth again in public. I felt so terrible that I had done something so wrong, and because of who I am, I was filled with shame. I felt like I was “bad,” like I wasn’t a good person anymore. I for sure didn’t want to go on air crying, as a white girl, as if what I was now going through was anything compared to the racism that so many people endure every day of their lives.

I was a public figure by then. That’s a lot of responsibility, and a lot of weight to carry. But I chose this, I have benefited from it, and at that point I couldn’t walk away from any of it.

No excuses.

I realized I have a responsibility to step into the position that I am in with more awareness, more insight, more compassion, and more knowledge. And that’s not just because I’m a public figure. This same thing applies to anyone. It’s just a part of growing up, and maturing, and accepting that you can’t use your upbringing or privilege or old-fashioned ignorance as an excuse anymore.

The blowback from that one moment on Instagram cost me all of my endorsement deals (which was my only source of income) and so much more. It was beyond upsetting to be canceled by people who don’t know me. I cried my eyes out for days on end. But I was also humbled by the education that resulted from that moment, which may have never happened had I not gone through this very public lesson in accountability.

In the days following the Instagram Live video, I wanted to speak out and apologize but I felt completely overwhelmed. So many people from my personal and professional life were giving me advice, but I knew I didn’t just want to hire a “fixer” or wait for it to blow over. Instead, I sought out someone who could help educate me on what I had done, and who I had harmed. I hired an ethnic studies professor to help me through it all. She led me through an extensive personalized training where we delved deep into my family history, the ideologies that shaped me, and specifically the history of race, racism, and white privilege in the United States.

For a couple of weeks, between three and eight hours a day, the professor pushed and engaged me on these difficult topics I had avoided most of my life. It was a crash course on a history I had never been exposed to before, with someone who had the expertise to explain where many of my emotions and, honestly, ignorance originated. Not knowing this history didn’t mean I was racist or dumb, but rather that I was a product of an education system and culture that doesn’t teach this history. It wasn’t an excuse but rather an invitation to begin my learning, and I threw myself into the process. I invested in my education and it was a great way get out of my head and address the anxiety that was swirling around me at the time. I learned how to identify my own “white fragility” when I was confronted with being called a racist for the first time in my life; ultimately getting pushed and encouraged to open up to her and others in candid conversations.

I was ultimately inspired by how many people supported my learning, and my commitment to growth, from friends and acquaintances to perfect strangers, on Instagram and even in person when I dared to go get a coffee or something.

I didn’t feel as if I could have conversations about race before it happened. That’s just not something a southern Christian white girl from Alabama has any place or practice doing. But now? It’s not even a “could” thing. It’s a “should” thing.

I’m trying to focus on that, and not let this moment go away. Some people told me to not even talk about it in this book, but I don’t want it to be brushed under the rug. It, ironically, has given me the opportunity to share what I have learned with other people, many like me who have never gone deep on these topics. For these reasons and more, I don’t want to erase it from my story. I have chosen not to speak about it as much on social media because honestly, I feel such anxiety around how that played out in the past. But here, where I can give more context and share more of my journey, I feel drawn to share what I have been working through.