In most cases, I believe I do a good job of articulating my thoughts and feelings, but during this week, that hasn’t been the case. One of my thoughts or emotions I have been able to identify can be labeled as regret, remorse, or self-correction—I realized I made a huge mistake.

Four years ago I wrote the blog post, The Divided State of America. In this article, I didn’t specify my stance as I expressed my thoughts regarding #BlackLivesMatter, #BlueLivesMatter, and #AllLivesMatter, and I am embarrassed to admit that I didn’t truly get it until the recent deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd—I just realized the error of my ways.

I am a black woman who hasn’t experienced racial profiling by a police officer nor have I been subjected to racial slurs or mistreatment to my face, other than the time I was followed by a security guard in a department store in Caversham, England and the time a white South African didn’t believe I was the woman of the house he was servicing. I’m not sure if these facts blinded me from the truth that #AllLivesMatter can’t exist in a world where people need to be reminded that #BlackLivesMatter.

My heart was heavy as I read an influx of posts on social media where people mocked the death of George Floyd and posted blatant racists statements that were liked and shared by masses of people. I realized I had been blinded by my heartfelt belief that all lives are precious, and I had a deep hope within me that everyone else felt the same way. But the truth of the matter is, if that were true, there would be no need to state #BlackLivesMatter.

Please don’t misunderstand me, I know we all have opinions and view life differently at different stages; but, when I see #AllLivesMatter in response to #BlackLivesMatter, I find it infuriating. Partly because if #AllLivesMatter there would be no need to inform folks that #BlackLivesMatter. But the main reason why it infuriates me is that up until a few days ago I was one of those folks, I overlooked a vital part of the message. The stance isn’t that black lives are the only ones that matter—we want the world to realize and embrace the fact that we are one group of the many who do. It isn’t a discredit to any other group, race, or entity.

I have an older brother who loves to run, and he lives in a neighborhood where there aren’t a lot of people who were born with an abundance of melanin. And unfortunately, I recall seeing a confederate flag waving high in the sky by a house not far from where he lives. Will a racist father and son with less pigmentation approach my brother and threaten his life? I shouldn’t have thoughts of whether or not he will be safe in his neighborhood as he gets his exercise during a daily run. My brother’s life matters.

I realize I hadn’t opened my eyes to the fact that there are people in this world who weren’t fortunate to have parents that taught them to love and accept people regardless of race. When I think about my father and the racism he endured as a child growing up in the south, I am overwhelmed with admiration that he did not teach my brother and me to hate. I recognize how difficult it had to be for him to experience mistreatment and undiluted hate that was considered justified simply because he was born a black man. My father’s life matters. I hadn’t truly embraced the fact that non-acceptance and hate are taught—it has to be instilled in order for it to be demonstrated.

I wholeheartedly believe all lives matter—but as a unit—we’re not there yet because all lives aren’t viewed equally. If they were, we wouldn’t need to say #BlackLivesMatter.