As a Black woman, I can’t ever stop thinking about racism. It is my reality. When I was getting ready to go to college and interviewed for the school I’d applied to for early admission, my interviewer asked if I had a boyfriend and then asked me on a date, rather than showing any interest in whether I was a fit for that prospective school. I was shocked and ashamed. I worked so hard — I worked twice as hard — but my intelligence was ignored. Black women aren’t seen for being themselves; they’re seen as archetypes: the strong Black woman, the angry Black woman, the Jezebel. We are rarely granted our humanity. This is why I will never question why it is that Breonna Taylor’s murderers still have their jobs and have not been punished. This is why I will never question why nobody protected Oluwatoyin Salau before she was killed. I already know the answers. But I still wonder who is protecting Black women, as they are dying and losing their lives fighting for justice in our patriarchal, white supremacist society. I wonder who is advocating for our Black women at all, even as Black women focus on fighting for everyone else.