I have a confession to make. I was a racist.
I used to hate Asian people. When I was young, I made fun of a girl in my elementary school named Ching, joining in with all the other kids when they addressed her as “Ching Chong” in a Chinese accent and used the nickname to make a rhyme with “ding-dong.” I laughed at the Japanese boy whose parents spoke in broken English and seemed like they were fresh off the boat. I worked hard to distance myself from the few other Asians in my high school and tried not to be seen socializing in public with a Taiwanese girl whom I hung out with a lot in private.
Being racist against Asians is bad enough; it’s worse because I am Asian. I’m the daughter of first-generation Chinese immigrants. My 23andMe results have confirmed I am 99.9% Chinese.
But I hated my heritage, I hated my Asian appearance, and I hated other Asians.
Instead, I loved white people. I wanted to be white. I wanted white friends and white boyfriends. For some time, I wanted to be called Betsy because that was the whitest name I could think of. I wanted to look white. I even hoped to pass for white if I dyed my hair and wore sunglasses. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it reveals the depth of my hatred of being Asian – and my desperate desire to be like everyone else. I wanted to fit in. I didn’t want to be different.
I wish I could say that this was just a teenage phase and I eventually grew out of being a racist. But even as an adult, I continued to be embarrassed to be Asian. One time, while at JFK airport, I was approached by an Asian couple who were lost and struggling to read the signs in a foreign language. But instead of trying to help, I brushed them aside, declaring loudly so everyone around me could hear, “Why are you asking me?! I only speak English.”
I could blame my racism on the Midwestern culture I was raised in and the discrimination and teasing that I received regularly. I could also blame it on my parents, who prioritized assimilation and wanted me to fit in more than stand out. These were strong influences on the way I saw others and the way I saw myself.
But when you get right down to it, I had been a racist because I had bought into the lie that what others think of me is what matters most. And since others seemed to judge, dislike, and discriminate against Asians, I didn’t want to be Asian. Hating other Asian people seemed the best way to deny my Asian-ness.
I’m guessing other people might relate. You may not be racist against people of your race (I certainly hope you don’t experience the depravity that I did), but you don’t like being different. You wish you could be accepted. You want to belong.
This longing for belonging is rooted deep inside all of us. We were created to belong. When God declared in Genesis 2:18 that it wasn’t good for man to be alone, He wasn’t describing our need simply for help or companionship. He was saying that people are meant to be together. He created us for each other. We cannot do anything He intends us to do – enjoy Him and His creation, fulfill the creation mandate, or image Him – without being with others.
So, our desire for belonging is good, but it gets distorted when we derive our value from those we want to belong to. If we only accept ourselves when others accept us, any sense of self-worth we might achieve is tenuous. If we only feel loved when others love us, we will never feel completely secure. If we only see ourselves how others see us, we miss how fearfully and wonderfully God made us.
All of this causes us to feel we must conform to a certain standard or maintain a certain image. We become more concerned with what others think of us than who we are. The constant pressure to manage people’s impressions of us can lead us to believe that our image is more important than our identity.
But the truth is that our identity as God’s beloved is more important than anything else. And when we believe in our belovedness, we can be free from our distorted desire for belonging. We can love who we are and how we’re different.
Believing that we are beloved is hard. I’ve found a few shifts that make it possible.
First, we must shift from seeking our value from others’ opinions to rooting ourselves in Christ. In Colossians 2, Paul writes that we are to continue living in Jesus, “rooted and built up in Him.” In John 15, Jesus teaches us the results of remaining rooted in Him. “If you remain in me and I in you,” He says, “you will bear much fruit; apart from me, you can do nothing.” Whenever we are tempted to give undue credence to what others think of us, we must remind ourselves how much God loves us. I’ve tattooed the Chinese symbol for “daughter” on my wrist to regularly remind myself of my belovedness as God’s child.
We should also shift from managing our image to tending to our authentic selves. In Matthew 23, Jesus calls out people who focus on outward appearances and neglect their inner reality. From Luke 12, we learn that whatever is hidden will eventually be revealed. So, let us seek holiness in our hearts and minds and stop worrying about impressing or pleasing others. I find it helpful to remind myself that people think about me far less than I worry, and God thinks of me far more than I imagine.
Also, instead of trying to downplay how we’re different, let us embrace our uniqueness. When we accept not only that God made each of us with great care and attention (Psalm 139:14a) but also that we are wonderful because His works are wonderful (verse 14b), we can grow more comfortable with who we are, even – especially – when we are different from those around us. For example, instead of wishing my name would help me fit in, I now appreciate it because it’s different and more memorable. When I convey the value I offer clients as a keynote speaker, I emphasize that I am a fresh face and offer a fresh perspective. What’s more, when I meet someone different, I look for the goodness in that difference.
Above all, believing in our belovedness primarily prioritizes our belonging to God. His acceptance and His intimacy are of far more importance – and comfort – than the belonging that any other person or group could provide. Belonging to Him is the only way to feel genuinely valued, secure, and free. So, we should soak it in and rest in it. Only belonging to God can sustain us; belonging to others can help, but not fulfill.
And this is how I’ve stopped being a racist – or at least how I’m trying not to be. As I’ve become more convinced of my belovedness and experienced my belonging to God, I find I love myself more, and I love others, including other Asians, more.
I haven’t completely changed, but I know I’ve made progress. The other day, the Asian cashier at a local drug store asked me if I was Chinese. In the past, I would have been embarrassed, even offended. But this time, I replied with a joyful “yes!” And then I went on to ask her about her ethnicity and enjoyed a brief but life-giving moment of connection with her.
That may not seem like much, but it’s a step in the right direction.
Denise Lee Yohn is the Co-Founder & Co-Executive Director of the Bay Area Center for Faith, Work & Tech, as well as a corporate keynote speaker, consultant, and writer on brand leadership. Her work calling is to help businesspeople faithfully steward their professional vocations. Denise inspires and teaches Christian businesspeople to faithfully steward their work vocations as a speaker at churches, events, and conferences, including Women Work & Calling, and Boldly, and through contributions to media such as The Gospel Coalition and Fuller De Pree Center.