You Can't Fuck Your Way Out of Racism: What I Learned About Whiteness, Blackness and Real Accountability
Jul 03, 2025The first time someone said to me, “Yeah, you can’t fuck your way out of racism,” I was stopped cold. It felt like a slap, a truth so sharp I didn’t quite know what to do with it. For three months, it simmered in the back of my mind until it finally hit me: no amount of closeness to Black people, no romantic relationship, no shared family ties, no friendships, can erase your whiteness or your responsibility to do the hard work of dismantling racism.
I’ve dated Black men. I have Black kids. For a long time, I thought sharing this was a way to say to others, “Look, I get it. I’m dealing with what you’re dealing with.” But here’s the truth: I’m not living life while Black. I’m living life with whiteness—and that means my experience is fundamentally different, no matter how close I get.
Here’s a funny (and embarrassing) story: the first time I dated a Black guy, he asked me if I’d ever dated a “brother” before. My white mind jumped straight to incest for a second, until he pointed at his skin color. I was so embarrassed! But not too embarrassed to share here—so you don’t have to go through that! LOL.
A turning point for me came when a Black colleague was venting about someone else who’d proudly announced, “I have a Black husband.” My colleague was appalled, and I learned that this kind of statement lands differently than I expected. It’s not a badge of anti-racism or proof of understanding—it can actually feel like a dismissal of the real, lived experiences of Black people.
I was embarrassed. Embarrassed that I was still learning from my colleagues—people I respect—about how my words land, about what I still didn’t fully understand. But I didn’t shy away. I took it in deeply.
That humility has been a gift.
Even with my Black therapist, I have moments—more than I’d like to admit—where she says something crystal clear to her, but it takes me hearing it twice, sometimes three times, before it even starts to sink in. Embarrassing? Yes. But also necessary.
Can you imagine how many times those truths never hit me at all? How many times I missed the chance to really see, hear, and grow?
People of color can see through all the noise. They can smell whether you’ve looked at your whiteness honestly, or if you’re hiding behind your relationships like a shield. There is no shortcut.
No amount of proximity to Blackness gives a free pass.
Statements like, “My husband is Black,” or “I have Black kids,” or “I have a Black friend,” can sometimes feel like attempts to prove you’re not racist. But that’s not the point.
Racism isn’t about who you know, make love to, or break bread with. It’s about what you do.
It’s about how you show up, how you reckon with history and your place in it, how you choose to use your privilege.
So if you catch yourself trying to prove your “goodness” by citing your relationships, pause. (BTW the person you're talking to already knows.) Ask yourself:
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Am I trying to impress anybody? Convincing anyone that I'm a nice white person?
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Am I using this as a way to avoid the deeper work?
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Have I honestly examined my biases and my whiteness?
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Am I ready to lean into discomfort and change?
Because you can’t fuck your way out of racism.
You have to walk your way through it.
And it starts with listening—really listening—and being willing to learn, even when it’s embarrassing, even when it hurts.
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Sorry to bring the bad news... but the walk through racism and waking up never ends. The good news? Once you get honest about your whiteness, you ever have to say "I have a Black friend" (or husband, or child) ever again.
Ready to dig deeper? No perfection required, just a willingness to walk. Book a free consultation here.
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