Karen…

My wife is one of the most thoughtful people I know. She reads deeply, feels everything and then she finds the voice for it. Which is why I want to introduce what she’s written here, because she’s done something hard: she’s taken something that belongs to her, her name, and made a case for why it belongs to all of us who care about women being heard.

She’s a sensitive white woman. She knows that. She’s not asking for sympathy from people carrying heavier loads. She’s asking for something more precise: she’s asking you to think twice before you reach for a word that flattens and shames.

I’ve watched her sit with this for a long time. Years, honestly. She didn’t rush to write it. Didn’t post it hot. She waited until she could say it with love because that’s how she moves through the world, with love. She’s not a Karen. She’s my wife. Her name is Karen. And after you read what she has to say, I hope you’ll feel the difference.

— Raymond

Do you remember that song by Love & Rockets “No New Tales to Tell?” There’s a line that goes “People love to hear their names.” Well, not me, not anymore. “Karen” has been completely corrupted for me. And I haven’t talked about publicly because honestly, I thought it would go away by now. But it keeps on! Hooray.

There seem to be two pejorative uses of “Karen.” One is the “complain to the manager” type and the other is flat-out racist. Sometimes they overlap but not always. So just sticking with the first one for now, do you see how nasty it is that I can’t complain about it because then I’m being it? It’s like one of those finger traps where the harder you pull, the more stuck in it you are. I hate that. I hate it for myself, that I now feel suppressed about using my voice. In the past when I’ve seen something that doesn’t work and I had an idea to make it better, I liked to speak up. I would complain in a way that makes a difference, to someone who could do something about it. But now if they know my birth name is Karen, I feel like my words will be dismissed as soon as I’m gone or hang up the phone. That literally a KAREN was complaining, can you believe that?

But it’s not just me I hate it for. Who are the women named Karen? For the most part, we are in our 50s or 60s. Consider that every time someone trots out a “Karen” slur, they are trying to shame older women into silence. Maybe younger women, too. You don’t have to be named Karen to be afraid to be one. And notice that there’s no male equivalent? “Chad” never really caught on. This truly is about silencing women. (Side note: I notice a lot of posts now that use all kinds of names like Linda, Sharon, Carol, etc. and it’s got a similar energy. It’s not clever, and again these are older women’s names. We are the easy punchline.)

And then there’s the racist use. Yes, there have been white women lately who have been horrifically, publicly racist. I’m glad it’s being called out. It’s well past time. All white people have to look within at their part in the system that benefits them, especially if they don’t consider themselves racist. I’m not turning away from my own work here, and I have more to do. But it hurts my heart every time Karen is used as a substitute for racist. It’s just using misogyny to call someone racist. And personally, I hate it as it’s so at odds with who I am and how I want to be known.

I don’t speak for all people named Karen, obviously. I know not every Karen feels the way I do. But just for a moment imagine if it was your name that co-opted into something shitty. Believe me, it does not feel good. I do not like to hear my name anymore. So to honor my voice and my commitment to complain to someone who can do something about it, I ask you to stop using “Karen” as a slur. And when you hear others use it, please ask them to stop. Consider it to be one small action you can take to help dismantle the patriarchy.

Karens will thank you.

Afterword

She asked me not to make a big deal of this. Which is very her. So I’m only going to make a medium deal of it. I’m a Jamaican-American man. I know something about a word(s) being weaponized. I know something about the particular cruelty of a label that sticks to your body before you even open your mouth. And I know that when language is used to silence people, it doesn’t matter how righteous the original grievance was. The weapon doesn’t care.

What my wife is describing is a trap built from irony.

You can’t object to the thing without becoming the thing.

That’s not justice, it’s cruelty. She still speaks up. She still finds the person who can do something. She still believes that a well-aimed complaint, delivered specificity, is an act of care for the world. That hasn’t changed. What’s changed is that now she carries this little extra special burden. That’s the part that gets me. Not the slur itself. The weight it adds to someone who’s already doing a shit-ton of work. So I’m asking alongside her. Not because she needs backup.

I love her, and because this is the kind of thing love actually looks like. Not a grand gesture. Just standing next to her and saying: she’s right. Her name is Karen. Give it back.

— Raymond Ussery

I work at the intersection of systems, souls, and sacred medicine.

I help solo business owners build the infrastructure to stop surviving and start scaling. An expert at operational clarity.

AND I’ve never been able to separate the work from the rest of life.

So I also write about life, grief, wonder, and the strange miracle of being awake for any of it. Some posts hand you a framework. Others hand you something to hold.

I’m also on Substack → https://substack.com/@luxmaiorum