What are we doing?

People around the world are combing through millions of documents tied to an international child-abuse network, and still, this will not be the moment many white folx recognize how the myth of white supremacy poisons everyone it touches, including you.

Even as I write this, I know this will cross the timeline of white folx who will publicly deny what history and present-day evidence make painfully clear.

Welcome to the 1st day of “Facilitated Conversations with Kim Crayton: I Want To Speak To White Women Directly” [1.1.2026]
Assignment:

1. View video

2. Save video to reference throughout the month, especially as a reminder of Truths & Boundaries whenever you feel uncomfortable or triggered

3. Share this content with other white women

https://youtu.be/44YXSW2g_XM

Due to the unexpected and overwhelming response to yesterday’s “soft motherhood” post, I’m taking the opportunity of Black History Month to do something intentional.

As this administration works overtime to erase the existence of my history, I’m bringing Facilitated Conversations with Kim Crayton directly to white women under the theme: “I want to speak to white women directly.”

I spent time yesterday, doing what I rarely do, reading responses to my message to white women about the expectation of “soft motherhood,” and it reminded me of something:

You can’t learn what it means to be a world traveler from someone who has never left their own borders.

This is why so many white folx rely on other white folx like Brené Brown, Scott Galloway, Robin DiAngelo, and Mel Robbins and still learn very little about how to move through the world without causing harm.

I want to speak to white women directly.

Not to shame you.
But to offer a necessary mirror.

Because what that reflection reveals isn’t just exhaustion. It reveals perspective.

Many of you are only now recognizing what it feels like to mother without tenderness, without safety, without the sense that society is structured to support you. You’re naming how destabilizing it is to raise children in uncertainty. You’re grieving the version of motherhood you thought you’d have.

We are living in a moment where collective harm is being repackaged as individual failure.

Where the very real impact of systems, institutions, and policies designed to exclude, exploit, and dehumanize gets reframed as a mindset problem. A resilience problem. A positivity problem. A personal responsibility problem.

And it’s happening with the language of spirituality. With the aesthetics of healing. With the tone of encouragement.

“Good white folx,” it’s now at your door.

The hate.
The coverups.
The justifications meant to strip you of dignity and humanity.

It’s ugly. It’s harsh. It’s violent.

But it has always been this way.

For years, I’ve said something many of you did not want to hear: that “good white folx” would eventually find themselves harmed by the very systems, institutions, and policies rooted in the myth of white supremacy that you believed protected you by default.

I’ve spent most of today watching videos of non-Black communities questioning, begging, and in some cases demanding that Black folx “come outside.”

To show up.
To lead.
To save.
To stand on the front lines again.

And I ended my day watching the Celebration of Life for Richard Smallwood, and it clarified something for me that I haven’t seen articulated in this way.

White “progressive” and “liberal” women, there is something you need to seriously confront.

You are far more willing to idolize, and fund, white women like Brené Brown, Mel Robbins, Elizabeth Gilbert, and Robin DiAngelo than you are to materially support Black women whose lived experiences and scholarship their work often draws from, reshapes, and sanitizes for your comfort.

This isn’t accidental. It reveals where your trust, loyalty, and sense of safety actually lie.

I’m winding down for the day and a “catch up” conversation I had with a friend earlier keeps replaying in my head.

One of the quiet consequences of living through chaotic times is that folx begin releasing relationships and responsibilities that simply make their lives harder. Not because of obvious abuse, something most people can easily agree is justification, but because certain people and obligations feel like rocks in your pockets while you’re just trying to keep your head above water.

As I think about how to move toward a supremacy-, coercion-, discrimination-, and exploitation-free future, I keep returning to a question that feels more urgent with each passing year: how do I age with dignity in a system designed to extract until there’s nothing left?

I’m aging. We all are. And recently I’ve been thinking deeply about the safety net I’ll have to build for myself.

The most painful lesson I learned, and have yet to fully recover from, after losing the community I spent years cultivating when Twitter was sold, it’s this: the “revolution” and change so many of you say you want will never be built in public, on platforms owned by people who not only do not share your values but who see them as threats.

At any moment, the communities, businesses, networks, and even friendships you’ve built there can be taken from you because they were never truly yours.