The Grief of Moving Targets When the Rules Keep Changing

Grief Beyond Death:

The Losses We Carry, The Truths We Avoid, and The Recovery We Need

Part 2: The Grief of Moving Targets: When the Rules Keep Changing

By Zykina Stewart, M.A. Certified Advanced Grief Recovery Method Specialist® Certified Grief Coach, Life Coach, Communication Coach, and Christian Coach

In Part 1 of this series, I introduced the idea that many conversations about racism, injustice, and inequality are also conversations about grief.

Not grief in the traditional sense.

Not grief caused by death alone.

But grief caused by loss.

Loss of trust.

Loss of opportunity.

Loss of safety.

Loss of certainty.

Loss of belonging.

Today I want to talk about a particular type of grief that often goes unnamed.

The grief of moving targets.

The grief that develops when people spend generations trying to reach goals that continuously change.

The grief of being told what is required to succeed, only to discover that the standard has shifted yet again.

The Historical Reality We Must Acknowledge

Before we discuss the present, we must acknowledge the past.

Black Americans are still living with the effects of losses created through centuries of injustice.

The trans-Atlantic slave trade created losses.

Chattel slavery created losses.

Segregation created losses.

Discriminatory policies created losses.

Barriers to education, housing, employment, wealth building, and voting created losses.

These losses were not simply economic.

They were emotional.

Relational.

Psychological.

Spiritual.

Generational.

What makes these losses even more difficult for many descendants of enslaved people is the perception that there has never been a comprehensive national effort to fully acknowledge, repair, or restore what was taken. While other harmed communities have at times received forms of redress, many Black Americans continue to wrestle with the reality that the losses connected to slavery and its aftermath remain largely unresolved.

In recent years, international bodies such as the United Nations have characterized the trans-Atlantic slave trade and slavery as among the gravest crimes against humanity. For many descendants, such acknowledgments affirm what families and communities have known and lived with for generations. The losses were real, and so is the grief attached to them.

For many Americans, history is something to read about.

For Black Americans, history is something that continues to shape daily life.

One of the challenges with collective grief is that it compounds.

Before one wound has been addressed, another wound often appears.

Before one trauma has been healed, another disappointment emerges.

Before one barrier is removed, another takes its place.

And because the grief remains largely unaddressed, it accumulates.

That accumulation matters.

Because unresolved grief has consequences.

Until we are willing to acknowledge the connection between historical trauma, present grief, and the emotional impact those losses continue to create, we will continue discussing symptoms while ignoring part of the cause.

The Promise Of Progress

Every generation is told some version of the same story.

Work hard.

Get educated.

Follow the rules.

Dress appropriately.

Speak professionally.

Behave correctly.

Adapt.

And for many minorities, adaptation became a survival skill.

The promise was often that if we could successfully meet the expectations placed before us, the barriers would eventually disappear.

Yet many people have experienced something different.

The target moves.

Again.

And again.

The requirements change.

The expectations shift.

The rules evolve.

What was sufficient yesterday suddenly becomes insufficient today.

And while some may view this only as a social or political issue, I believe there is another layer worth examining.

The emotional impact.

The grief.

Because every moving target creates another loss.

A loss of certainty.

A loss of trust.

A loss of predictability.

A loss of confidence that effort alone will be enough.

The Day I Learned To Code Switch

I learned this lesson early.

I was in high school and on the dance and drill team.

One day, while talking with some of the girls on the team, I casually used AAVE in conversation while talking about being hungry.

What happened next was small on the surface.

But significant underneath.

I quickly learned that there were spaces where I was expected to communicate differently.

What made the experience especially memorable was that these messages were not coming from people outside of my community.

They were coming from girls who looked like me.

Girls who were lighter-skinned.

Girls from what many would call the "good side of town."

Girls in advanced academic programs.

And before anybody assumes I was some outsider trying to fit in, let me be clear.

I wasn't sitting on the sidelines.

Ya girl was the co-captain.

Yet somehow I still learned that certain versions of Blackness were considered more acceptable than others.

Certain words were acceptable.

Certain words were not.

Certain versions of myself felt welcome.

Certain versions did not.

What surprised me most was that this wasn't limited to people outside my community.

Even some people within minority communities judged the language.

For some, it was considered too Black.

Too urban.

Too much.

And so I adapted.

Like many people do.

I learned how to navigate different environments.

I learned how to speak differently depending on the audience.

I learned how to present myself in ways that would make others comfortable.

Then I entered the workforce.

The lesson became even stronger.

Professionalism often meant sounding less like myself and more like whatever version of myself was considered acceptable.

And I became very good at it.

In fact, I became so good at it that many people would not have recognized the different versions of me.

I could switch effortlessly.

Professionally polished in one room.

Relaxed in another.

Corporate in one setting.

Community-centered in another.

Faith-centered somewhere else.

I mastered adaptation.

But mastery came with a cost.

It was exhausting.

Looking back, I now realize I wasn't simply learning communication skills.

I was learning self-monitoring.

I was learning social calculation.

I was learning which parts of myself felt safe to reveal and which parts needed to stay hidden.

At the time, I called it professionalism.

Today, I recognize part of it as grief.

The Grief Was Never In Learning

Let me be clear.

There is nothing wrong with learning how to communicate effectively in different environments.

There is value in understanding culture.

There is value in understanding context.

There is value in flexibility.

The grief was never in learning different environments.

The grief was believing I had to leave parts of myself behind to enter them.

The grief was feeling that acceptance sometimes required editing myself.

The grief was believing that authenticity might cost me opportunity.

The grief was wondering which version of myself would be considered safe, acceptable, professional, or worthy.

That is a loss.

And where loss exists, grief follows.

The Hidden Cost Of Constant Adaptation

Many people have become so accustomed to adapting that they no longer recognize its emotional cost.

The exhaustion.

The hyperawareness.

The constant calculations.

The mental energy spent evaluating every room.

Every conversation.

Every opportunity.

Every interaction.

Many people are carrying grief connected to years of adaptation.

Not because adaptation itself is harmful.

But because adaptation can sometimes be rooted in fear.

Fear of rejection.

Fear of misunderstanding.

Fear of exclusion.

Fear of losing access.

Fear of losing opportunity.

And fear is exhausting when carried for long periods of time.

Becoming Whole

At some point, I made a decision.

I wanted to be whole.

Not perfect.

Whole.

There is a difference.

Perfection asks us to perform.

Wholeness gives us permission to exist.

Yes, I have earned two undergraduate degrees.

Yes, I earned a master's degree.

Yes, I have numerous certifications and professional accomplishments.

Yes, I have traveled the world and trained senior government officials throughout my career.

And yes, there are still moments when I may intentionally use language that reflects where I come from, the people I love, or the point I am trying to emphasize.

Not because I lack education.

Not because I lack professionalism.

But because I no longer feel the need to separate parts of myself in order to prove my worth.

I am all of those things.

And I deserve to exist as a whole person.

That realization brought freedom.

But it also revealed something else.

How much energy I had spent trying to earn acceptance.

The Losses We Rarely Discuss

When people discuss historical injustice, they often focus on tangible losses.

Money.

Property.

Resources.

Opportunities.

Those losses matter.

But there are other losses that are harder to measure.

The loss of belonging.

The loss of acceptance.

The loss of authenticity.

The loss of certainty.

The loss of feeling fully seen.

The loss of trust.

The loss of acknowledgment.

The loss of restoration for what was taken.

Many people are grieving losses they have never named.

Losses that cannot be measured by statistics.

Losses that live quietly beneath the surface.

Yet they shape how people move through the world every day.

Why This Matters

As a Grief Recovery Specialist, I have learned that healing begins when we identify what was lost.

Not what should have happened.

Not what others wish had happened.

But what was actually lost.

Many people know they are frustrated.

Many know they are tired.

Many know they are discouraged.

But they have never stopped to ask:

What am I grieving?

That question changes everything.

Because grief cannot heal if it remains unnamed.

Recovery Begins With Truth

The truth is that many moving targets still exist.

The truth is that some barriers remain.

The truth is that losses continue to occur.

But the truth is also that healing is possible.

Recovery begins when we become honest about what we have carried.

Recovery begins when we stop minimizing losses simply because they are common.

Recovery begins when we recognize that adaptation helped us survive, but survival is not the same thing as healing.

And recovery begins when we stop believing that our worth is determined by our ability to earn acceptance.

Because your value was never meant to be negotiated.

Your humanity was never meant to be earned.

And your identity was never meant to be hidden.

The grief was never in learning different environments.

The grief was believing you had to leave parts of yourself behind to enter them.

Maybe that is the hidden cost of moving targets.

Not simply that the standard changes.

But that people spend years changing themselves trying to reach it.

Only to discover they were enough before the target moved.

And enough before it was created.

Reflection Question

How much of your life has been spent earning acceptance rather than living from the truth that you were already enough?

Next in the Series

Part 3: Raising Black Children in a World That Keeps Changing

In Part 3, I'll explore the unique grief many parents experience while preparing their children to navigate a world where excellence does not always guarantee fairness, and love does not always eliminate fear.