ABSTRACT
In spring 2020, several things went wrong in quick succession. First was my mother's stage 3 breast cancer diagnosis, which was followed two weeks later by the national Covid lockdown. Since my father is a doctor who manages intensive care clinics, our family considered the not too unlikely risk of losing both my parents. Wills were updated, tough conversations were had, and I as the eldest daughter was emotionally preparing for the task of keeping everyone else afloat. Adding in the violence and aggression that black communities experienced during the Black Lives Matter movement, all whilst trying to complete my undergraduate degree, it is fair to say that I was not doing well.
