The Real Cost of “Being Strong” While Black
The Problem with “Being Strong” While Black
Let’s talk about strength for a second, more significantly what it means to be strong while Black. For many of us, strength has been drilled into us as survival. It’s not just about power, it’s about getting through some of the hardest shit imaginable like, life or death hard. That strength comes from the weight of history, from the blood and sweat of our ancestors who fought for survival under slavery and oppression. Their strength meant they had a chance at life.
But here's where it gets messy. That strength we inherit? It's dangerous. Because today, being strong is often a mask for the pain we’re taught to ignore. It’s this pressure to carry the world on our backs, to show up and perform, even when we’re falling apart on the inside. We’re taught to keep moving, keep pushing, and to pretend like everything’s okay even when it’s not.
This isn’t just mentally exhausting, it’s physically damaging! Carrying the weight of emotional, mental, and physical exhaustion isn’t sustainable. It’s toxic. But that’s the norm, right? We’ve been conditioned to believe that if we’re not strong, we’re failing. So we hold it all in, we give away pieces of ourselves until there’s barely anything left.
But here's the truth: You don’t have to keep doing that.
If you’re Black (or a Black parent) you have every right to set boundaries without guilt. You have every right to say “no” without feeling ashamed. And most importantly, you have every right to stand firm for yourself, to prioritize your well-being, and not chip away at yourself just to meet expectations.
The “strong” stereotype isn’t something you need to hold onto anymore. It’s time to redefine what strength really looks like for us.
But Let’s Talk About Why "Being Strong" Can’t Be Completely Scrapped Mainly For Healthcare
Here’s the thing: in some situations, especially during pregnancy, labor, and delivery, the need to “be strong” doesn’t just go away. When Black women enter hospital settings, they face the reality of implicit bias, medical bias, and systemic racism. Many times, being strong becomes a survival tactic to advocate for yourself in an environment where you might not be heard.
It’s a sad reality that in some cases, our very lives depend on the strength we muster to speak up, to demand the care we deserve, and to protect our bodies from the harm caused by a healthcare system that doesn’t always have our best interests at heart.
This is why, unfortunately, the concept of “being strong” while Black can’t be completely discarded. But here's the shift we need to make: This strength has a time and place. You shouldn’t have to operate from that space 24/7. You shouldn't have to walk through every part of your life with the armor of "strength" just to survive.
There is a time to advocate for yourself and speak up, primarily in critical moments. But there’s also a time to tap into and acknowledge your feelings, to let your guard down, and to give yourself the space to heal without the pressure of “holding it together.”
A Personal Reflection on Strength
I grew up in a West Indian household with a very strong and independent single mother. I watched her navigate life’s ups and downs; her grief, her joy, her pain, and her growth all while maintaining that same “strong” facade. She gained friends, lost friends, found lovers, lost lovers, and juggled the pressures of raising two children while working and doing it all on her own. From her, I learned what it meant to be strong. I took that strength and carried it into my own life, using it as a survival mechanism to push through challenges.
But as I've gotten older, I’ve come to realize that the strength my mother passed on to me also came with bearing the pain in silence. She taught me to hold it all in to survive with the hope of finding peace on the other side.
But here’s what I’ve learned: There is no peace in silence, especially when that silence is for the convenience and comfort of others.
Here’s how to start reclaiming your strength:
Acknowledge your struggles. It’s okay to not be okay. Acknowledging your pain doesn’t make you weak—it makes you real.
Set boundaries, no guilt. You’re allowed to say no, to protect your energy, and to prioritize your peace without apologizing for it. No one’s going to respect you if you don’t respect yourself first.
Ask for help. Being strong isn’t about doing it all alone. It’s about knowing when to lean on others. That’s the real strength—recognizing when you need support and letting others be there for you.
This idea of "being strong" is outdated. True strength isn’t about holding it all in; it’s about giving yourself the space to breathe, heal, and grow. It’s time to rewrite that narrative.