The Privilege I Carry, and the Privilege I Don’t
By Krystena LuCastro · Originally published on Medium Jun 2, 2025
Privilege isn’t always about wealth or power – it’s about what you don’t have to think about.
I recognize the privilege of my education – how it carved out options I now get to call choices.
I recognize the privilege of my reality every time I drive through that side of town and realize:
If I wasn’t as educated,
If I wasn’t as resourceful,
If I wasn’t as connected, or as supported as I am –
I might be right there.
I might not have made it out.
I recognize my privilege every time I eat without worry.
Every time I drive a car that works.
Every time I get dressed and feel both comfort and confidence.
When I get to adorn myself – with jewelry, with makeup, with softness –
those are all privileges.
I recognize the privilege of being able to read… to understand, to comprehend, to make meaning from words on a page, a sign, or across a screen.
That, too, is privilege – quiet, often invisible, but powerful.
Because literacy is access.
It’s autonomy.
It’s the ability to take in the world around you rather than be told what it means.
And not everyone has that.
But I also recognize the privileges I do not have.
Because of who I am, what I am.
Like my skin color.
Like my gender.
Like so many things I probably don’t even know to name.
Because sometimes the world sees my face and already decides my worth.
Because safety doesn’t always feel guaranteed.
Because access isn’t always access. Sometimes, it’s an audition.
And that is simply not fair.
So I live in the tension.
Grateful, but grieving.
Aware of the ladder I’ve climbed, but not unaware of who built it – and for whom.
I don’t take what I have for granted.
But I won’t pretend the playing field is level, either.
Because I know what it means to not feel this secure.
To not have to meet a schedule of transportation – because I have a vehicle.
To not be limited in what parts of the world I can see – because I can get on a plane.
To not build my life around buffers of time I can’t afford – because I own distance now.
To not have to borrow clothes that don’t feel like me, just to blend in.
Or show up wearing a desperate choice from a finite selection of clothing options,
praying that what I say will matter more than what I can afford to wear.
To not have to think twice about food – whether I should eat now or later.
Whether I have to choose between feeding myself or my family.
Because we can all eat – without hesitation.
To not ask: Can I keep the lights on? Or should I save for something else?
Can I send my child to daycare? Or must she stay home – less engaged, less enriched –
not because of a lack of love,
but a lack of resources.
Convenience is a privilege – quiet, invisible, and often taken for granted.
Its absence is loud.
It shows up in missed buses, limited grocery options, rescheduled appointments, and impossible choices.
Convenience isn’t luxury. It’s stability, freedom, and peace disguised as ease.
This is what it means to have options.
And having options is privilege.
Even when it doesn’t always feel like ease.
Privilege isn’t one-size-fits-all. It stacks. It intersects. It even contradicts.
I may have less privilege in one room and more in another.
That’s not confusion – that’s complexity.
So when we say White Privilege,
or Ableist Privilege,
or Male Privilege,
we’re not launching an attack.
We’re naming a structure.
We’re pointing to what exists – often silently, invisibly, but powerfully.
It’s not a dig.
It’s not blame.
It’s recognition.
It’s saying:
This road is smoother for you – not because you asked for it to be, but because the world often built it that way.
And others?
They’re driving on gravel. With potholes. Sometimes barefoot.
Privilege isn’t proof of goodness or superiority.
It’s often inherited.
It’s history – passed down through wealth, access, proximity to decision-makers.
Some people are born near the starting line. Others are born outside the stadium.
Acknowledging privilege doesn’t erase hard work.
It just tells the whole truth:
That hard work plus access yields more than hard work alone.
That some people have to work twice as hard for half as much.
And when we don’t recognize our privilege,
we risk weaponizing our ignorance.
We mistake equity for attack.
We resent the progress of others,
as if equality is a threat rather than a goal.
Awareness isn’t shame.
It’s clarity.
And clarity is the first step to compassion, to empathy – and to change.
So I live in that clarity.
I honor what I carry and name what I lack.
I know that I’ve earned some things – but not everything.
And I know others have lost things they never should’ve had to lose.
Naming privilege is an act of rebellion.
It is a quiet resistance rooted in hope.
It shows me – again and again – that healing people, heal people.
And that when we choose to see each other clearly,
we create the conditions for justice to grow.
If we all carry different kinds of privilege,
then we all have different kinds of power.
And power – when used with empathy – can build bridges
that justice alone cannot.
We all have privilege.
Not the same kind. Not the same amount.
But we all have something.
So let’s stop pretending we don’t.
Let’s name it,
hold it,
and use it well.
What privileges do you carry?
Which ones do you see operating quietly around you?
And if you truly believe equity is fair and right – what will you do with what you have?
Maybe you’ve never had to wonder where your next meal would come from.
Or maybe you’ve always had to.
Either way, I invite you to pause and ask:
What freedoms have I mistaken for normal?
Start there.
Start by naming.
Because what we name, we can see.
And what we see, we can begin to change.
Read the published version on Medium