02/02/2026
At TrueNorth, we are well aware that there are many patients and families struggling within our community. We’re taking a moment to share with you the thoughts from someone within our community to give you a glimpse of what their daily life looks like as a family. For those of you that will read this please know that you are never alone. For their protection and privacy, their name shall be unknown.
This is my battle cry:
My heart grieves as I lay awake unable to sleep feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders in a country that once was a safe place. That feeling of safety has now been replaced with uncertainty and pain. Family dinners, once a happy time for sharing the highlights of our day, are now replaced with tough conversations about safety plans, and critical decisions to keep our family safe in a nation where it's not okay to be a person of color or an immigrant. Our anxiety is high, and our worry is real.
This is what it’s like for a family in a country that has turned against you because of the color of your skin and for having family members who immigrated. A country where a young white man in athletic clothes is seen as a jock or athlete but young men who are people of color wear the same thing are seen as thugs or people who want trouble. You tell your sons about the stories of Tamir Rice, Trayvon Martin, and Michael Brown. Living in this country, for us, means having conversations with your family members about what to do if they get pulled over. It means your husband will be asked if he has a bomb on his truck while he is delivering paper products to a local hospital on his weekly route. It means looking over your shoulder because it seems white supremist feel safe to promote their agenda and want to wipe your family off the face of this earth because of your skin color.
Being a family of color and an immigrant in our country means carrying your citizenship paperwork and worrying if it really will make a difference. When we live in a nation where Renee Good and Alex Pretti are looked at as domestic terrorists for taking a stand for human rights, you worry about your own daughter who is going to school to further her nursing career. When she is passionate and cares about people and for what's right, you think, ‘what if that was my child shot on the streets of Minneapolis because she stood up for Human Rights.’
Why do I write? I am hurt. I am angry. I am tired. This battle is not just ours! When will we stop this madness? When will we say ‘Enough is Enough?’ When will our county be safe again? We can’t carry this burden alone. We need each other. My family lives matter and so do yours. Our children—no matter what race or where they are from—deserve a safe place where diversity is celebrated and they are made to feel valuable. This is my battle cry.
