There’s this metaphor we’re often handed when we start unpacking privilege: the invisible knapsack. A concept developed by Peggy McIntosh, it is a collection of unearned advantages we carry through the world, mostly unnoticed—until we begin to learn what they are.
And at first, it can feel helpful. You look inside and find tools you didn’t know you had. Resources. Protections. Leverage. You start to understand how the system has been working in your favor.
“Ah! Good to know. Glad I am aware of that now.”
But over time, that invisible knapsack becomes not only very visible, but heavy.
Each new insight into injustice, each moment of awareness, starts to feel like another brick added to the load. One brick at a time:
Brick: I didn’t earn this safety.
Brick: I didn’t choose this advantage.
Brick: People I love are harmed by systems I move through freely.
We’re handed brick after brick—sometimes gently, sometimes shoved into our lap—and we’re left stumbling under the weight, wondering, “Okay, but what do I DO with all of this?”
ID: a pile of brown rectangular blocks stacked in a large pile.
When Awareness Turns Heavy
Self-awareness, at its best, expands our capacity to act. But self-awareness can also distort the way we view our own humanity.
Becoming aware of how we benefit from broken systems can become a self-image that sees ourselves as broken.
Accountability starts to feel like a moral obligation to sacrifice our needs in order to atone for the sins of our privilege.
We start to believe we must earn our place in the work for justice through pain, penance, or perfection.
This isn’t a “woe is me” post.
It’s a call for reorientation.
Because here's the truth:
We do have a responsibility.
But responsibility isn’t the same thing as blame.
The Ability to Respond
Responsibility—when you break it down—is the ability to respond.
But I cannot respond when I am weighed down by shame.
I cannot respond when I’m tangled in perfectionism, or paralyzed by the fear of doing it wrong.
If the knapsack is so heavy I can't move, it ceases to be useful. If I carry it like a punishment, I lose the ability to use what’s inside to build something better.
The bricks of privilege were never meant to crush us.
They’re meant to be repurposed to build us up.
IF THE KNAPSACK IS SO HEAVY I CAN’T MOVE, IT CEASES TO BE USEFUL.
Privilege Is Not Identity
Who I am is not defined by the privileges I have been afforded.
Who I am is defined by what I choose to do with them.
How I choose to make meaning and purpose from them.
Because privilege, when acknowledged and transformed, can become a tool. A resource. A lever we use to shift weight off of others.
Not by pretending we’re weightless.
Not by denying the knapsack.
But by refusing to let it immobilize us.
What if instead of being weighed down by the bricks, we use them to build a better future?