Grief, Glory, and the Cost of Freedom

By Rev. Dr. Tammy Isaac

“Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” ~ James Baldwin

Freedom is a beautiful word full of promise, possibility, and power. But for many of us, especially those in Black, Brown, and Indigenous communities, freedom has always come with a shadow. It is something we celebrate and grieve at the same time. Every year, as Juneteenth, BIPOC Mental Health Month, and the Fourth of July arrive on the calendar, I feel the weight of that shadow and the need to name what often goes unspoken.

The Delay of Juneteenth

On June 19, 1865, Union soldiers arrived in Galveston, Texas, to declare that enslaved Black people were legally free. The problem? The Emancipation Proclamation had been signed more than two years earlier. Two years of waiting. Two years of being technically free but not informed. Two years of being bound by silence. Juneteenth isn’t just a celebration. It’s a pause. A moment to feel the ache of what was delayed and denied. Our ancestors danced not because everything was okay, but because dancing was a declaration: we are still here. Dr. Thema Bryant, in her sermon “Miriam’s Manifesto,” reminded us that the dancing of our ancestors was resistance. It was movement as medicine. Celebration as survival. And today, even in the face of racial injustice, medical inequity, and political neglect, we are still dancing not because we are untouched by pain, but because joy has become a form of protest.

"We carry the weight of what was never grieved. But healing is not betrayal—it’s an offering to those who came before us.” ~ Alex Elle 

The Weight We Inherit

July is BIPOC Mental Health Awareness Month, and I want to be clear this is not just about stress. This is about grief. Not just the grief of our personal losses, but what we call intergenerational grief the pain passed down from one generation to the next, when trauma is never spoken, processed, or healed. It’s the quiet exhaustion that lives in the body. The sense that you must always push through, stay strong, carry more. And in communities of color, this becomes the unspoken rule: survival over softness. But survival isn't healing. And silence isn’t strength.

“If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it. We must tell the truth." ~ Zora Neale Hurston

We must name our grief. And we must rest. Tricia Hersey, author of Rest Is Resistance, teaches us that rest is a sacred disruption of systems that seek to drain us. Rest is not weakness it is a return to our humanity. For people whose ancestors were denied the right to rest, claiming it today is a holy act.

“It is our duty to fight for our freedom. It is our duty to win. We must love each other and support each other.” ~ Assata Shakur

The Glory and the Gap of Independence

Then comes the Fourth of July. A celebration of freedom. A declaration of independence. But what does independence mean for those who were never included in the founding vision? What does it mean to live in a country that asks you to celebrate while still fighting for your life, your dignity, your breath? It means the holiday becomes layered. Complicated. Tender. Many of us still gather. We eat, we laugh, we hold space with our people. We do not deny the injustice we simply refuse to erase ourselves. We show up in our fullness, holding both grief and gratitude. Because freedom, when it’s real, makes room for all of us, our anger and our awe, our lament and our light.

“To be truly visionary we have to root our imagination in our concrete reality while simultaneously imagining possibilities beyond that reality.” ~ Bell Hooks

Holding the Tension

I often think about the game of tug-of-war. Each side pulls with all their strength. The rope tightens, tension builds. And you hold on not because it’s easy, but because letting go means the story falls apart. That’s what this season feels like. A tug between past and present. Between truth and denial. Between celebration and mourning. And we hold the rope. And we don’t let go. Because that rope is our history, our healing, our responsibility. We are not required to fix it all. We are simply called to breathe, speak, rest, and honor the story we carry. So, wherever you find yourself today celebrating, grieving, questioning, or all of the above know this: You are not alone. Your truth matters. And you have full permission to breathe.

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Want to Go Deeper?

This blog was inspired by this weeks episode of the Permission to Breathe Podcast, titled “Grief, Glory, and the Cost of Freedom.” If this reflection spoke to you, if you felt seen, stirred, or simply curious I invite you to listen to the full episode.

Available now on Spotify, or Apple Podcasts. Because your story deserves space. Your grief deserves breath. And your freedom deserves truth. Click here to listen

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