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Biracial in Black & White: The Truth We Carry

  • Writer: Brianna Miller
    Brianna Miller
  • Apr 30
  • 4 min read


Oxymoron: Loving the Enemy

I am an oxymoron. I am the enemy—asking to be loved. Asking to be accepted. Asking to be chosen.


Both sides of my family knew I was theirs. And still, neither one picked me. Because to fully claim me would’ve meant confronting everything they were taught to fear. Everything they were taught to hate.


This is the part of being bi-racial no one wants to name. Not the polished story of being "the best of both worlds." Not the fantasy of unity in skin. This is the ache of contradiction—the burden of being both and neither, of being too much and not enough, of being made to carry the war between histories in your own body.


I lived in the in-between. Still do. And in that space, I’ve had to learn how to love myself when no one else knew how to.


To the Mixed Kids Who Grew Up Like Me

We were told to be grateful. Told we were lucky. Told we were love embodied.


But behind closed doors and quiet glances—we were also a threat. A challenge. A contradiction no one wanted to solve. We learned to shape-shift, to over-explain, to shrink or perform depending on the room.


And we learned silence. We learned to stop asking to be seen. Because the answer too often was: Not like that.


You are not alone. And your survival is sacred. We don’t have to pick a side to be whole. We are the whole.


To the Parents Who Chose to Mix Worlds

You may have thought your love could erase racism. That creating a mixed child meant building a bridge. That your home could be a neutral zone.


But neutrality doesn’t protect us. Silence doesn’t guide us. Love, without reflection and accountability, is not enough.


Your child doesn’t just need love—they need to see you confront the very systems that harm the parts of them you didn’t grow up with. They need to hear you name race. They need to see you defend them not only in the world—but at your family gatherings, in your jokes, in your discomfort.


Love your child enough to face the parts of yourself that taught you to fear who they are becoming.


Don’t make your child the bridge if you’re not willing to walk across it too.


To Black and White Communities

We are part of you. Even when it’s complicated. Even when we challenge what you think you know about identity.


You can’t both claim us and exile us. Can’t both name us and erase us. You say we belong—but only if we perform the version of ourselves you’ve made room for.


White folks: Loving us doesn’t mean you’ve dismantled whiteness. Sometimes it means you’ve just rearranged it. If you only welcome us when we’re palatable, what you love is comfort, not connection.


Black folks: Don’t let the trauma of survival make you suspicious of our blood. We carry Blackness too—in our skin, in our rhythm, in our ache to be claimed. We don’t need to be “proven.” We are already here.


See us. Hold us. Challenge yourself to make space for us in the narrative—not as extras, but as kin.


I Still Choose Me

This is what it means to live as an oxymoron. To wake up every day in a body that was never meant to be fully accepted. And to still choose to love that body.


I am the contradiction you tried to bury. And I am still here. Not in spite of it—but because of it.


Reflection prompt for anyone reading: What part of your story have you exiled because it made others uncomfortable? What would it mean to welcome it home?


If This Resonates, Here's Where the Work Continues

This story isn’t just mine. I see versions of it in the kids I work with, in the parents doing their best, and in the systems still catching up. That’s why I created ROOTS and offer coaching for caregivers raising bi-racial Black and white children navigating complex identity, trauma, and belonging. Because healing isn’t individual work—it’s collective work.


The ROOTS program (Rising Out Of Two Stories) is specifically designed for bi-racial Black and white children and their caregivers. We explore how to love children beyond binaries and support them in claiming all parts of who they are.➡️ Learn more about ROOTS here


I also offer coaching for caregivers—especially those raising children of different racial backgrounds or navigating the layers of trauma and identity. If you're ready to look deeper, I’m here to walk with you.➡️ Explore coaching options


You don’t have to have it all figured out to start. You just have to be willing to love someone in their wholeness—even when it challenges yours.


Why I Name Black and White

People often ask me why I keep bringing up Black and white. Why I center it. Why I don’t “move on.”


Because in the United States, race is Black and white. Or more accurately—Black versus white. That’s the foundational lie and ongoing truth of this country. And to be a bi-racial Black and white child in the U.S. is not just a blend—it is a battleground.


We don’t just get “good hair” and exotic features. We inherit contradiction. We’re raised inside a nation built on polarization, and expected to smooth it over with our existence. But we’re not here to be your proof of progress.


We’re here to tell the truth. To heal out loud. And to make room for futures that don’t rely on erasure to function.


About the Author

Brianna Miller is a bi-racial writer, ontological coach, and founder of On Paper LLC. She creates spaces for healing, truth-telling, and transformation—for individuals, families, and systems. Her coaching and consulting work centers identity, possibility, and purpose. Learn more at onpaperllc.com.

 
 
 

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