“Strong Black Woman”
Why We Delay Our Own Healing (And Why Suffering Isn’t Our Birthright)?
Let’s be real for a minute. How many times have you felt the weight sitting on your chest, ignored the racing thoughts at 3 a.m., or swallowed down the lump in your throat just to get through a Zoom meeting?
You tell yourself, "I'll deal with it this weekend." You tell yourself, "I just need a good night's sleep." You tell yourself, "Other people have it worse; I’m fine."
And you are fine. On the outside. The bills are paid, the kids are fed, your hair is done, and you are showing up for everyone else. You are high-functioning. But inside? You are running on fumes, and the needle has been on "E" for months.
It is an unspoken epidemic among Black women: We wait.
We wait until the anxiety turns into a panic attack in the grocery store parking lot. We wait until the depression makes it physically impossible to get out of bed. We wait until the burnout is so severe that our bodies physically crash.
We wait until the last possible minute to search for mental health treatment. We wait until it is an emergency.
The question we need to ask ourselves, with gentleness but with absolute honesty, is: Why do we do this?
The Weight of the Cape
For generations, Black women have been conditioned to believe that our value lies in our ability to endure. The "Strong Black Woman" schema isn't just a stereotype; it’s a survival mechanism passed down through our bloodlines. We were taught that strength means silence. It means holding the family, the community, and the workplace together, never letting them see you sweat.
When you wear a cape every day, admitting that you are struggling feels like taking it off. It feels like failure. We worry that if we stop moving, everything around us will fall apart. So, we don't seek help when we first hear the whispers of distress. We only seek help when the screams become deafening.
The Stigma of "The Pill"
If therapy is a hush-hush topic in our community, medication is often completely taboo. There is a deep-seated fear that accepting a prescription means admitting defeat. We tell ourselves, "I’m not crazy," or "I don't want to become dependent on something just to function."
We need to clear the air on this: Taking medication for your mental health is not a sign of weakness. It is not a "crutch" any more than insulin is a crutch for a diabetic or a cast is a crutch for a broken leg.
Sometimes, the struggle isn't about your attitude, your prayer life, or your willpower—it is about biology. Black women are often fighting a chemical imbalance exacerbated by years of chronic stress and systemic trauma. Medication is simply a tool that helps balance the scales. It doesn't change who you are; it clears the fog so you can be who you are.
Using medication doesn't mean you are "hooked" for life. For many, it is a temporary bridge to get you to a place of stability where you can actually do the work in therapy. It is not dependency; it is maintenance. And you deserve to be maintained.
The Illusion of "Functioning"
Another major barrier is that many of us are "high-functioning" right up until the moment we break.
We hold degrees, important jobs, and leadership roles in our churches and communities. Because we are still "getting things done," we convince ourselves we aren’t sick enough to need therapy or medicine. We think depression always looks like staying in bed for a week. We don't realize that depression can also look like the CEO who cries in her car before walking into the office every morning.
We confuse functioning with wellness. They are not the same thing.
The Truth: We Don’t Need to Suffer
If you take one thing away from reading this today, let it be this: Your capacity to endure pain is not a badge of honor.
You do not have to earn your rest through suffering. You do not have to be on the brink of collapse to deserve support. We have to dismantle the idea that struggling in silence is noble. It is not noble; it is damaging our minds and bodies, and shortening our lives.
Laying Down the Burden
Seeking help, whether that is talk therapy, medication, or both, before the crash isn’t weakness. It is proactive self-preservation. It is an act of radical love for yourself.
It’s time to redefine strength. Real strength is knowing when your load is too heavy and having the courage to ask someone to help you carry it. Real strength is recognizing that you deserve ease, softness, and peace of mind, not just survival.
Don't wait until you have nothing left to give. You deserve support right now, right in the middle of your messy, beautiful, overwhelming life. Let’s stop waiting for the emergency. Let’s start healing now.
