Growing up, I was taught to be strong. To hold it together, to not cry, to keep going no matter what.
It was seen as strength, but what I have learned is that sometimes that kind of strength is just survival.

In many Black households, girls are raised to be independent, mature, and unshakable. We are told to hold everything down, no matter how heavy it gets. And when we do speak up, when we set boundaries, say no, or express pain, we are often labeled as angry or difficult.

For years, I felt like I could not have a voice. If I stood up for myself, I was seen as too emotional. If I stayed quiet, I was seen as too passive. It created a cycle that made me shrink myself just to keep the peace.

That kind of silence eats away at you. You start to feel unseen and disconnected from your own emotions. The mask of strength starts to feel more like a cage.

There were times I broke down and felt guilty for it. Times I needed help but told myself I could handle it. Times I convinced myself that being vulnerable was weakness. But the truth is, constantly being strong is exhausting. It leads to burnout, emotional numbness, and sadness that feels impossible to explain.

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The Cost of Always Being Strong

When the world teaches you that you are only valuable when you are strong, you forget that you are human first. You forget that strength and softness can exist at the same time.

The “strong Black woman” image was never meant to define us. It came from generations of women who had to survive in a world that gave them no choice. But survival is not the same as healing. Carrying everything alone does not make us stronger. It just keeps us tired and disconnected from our true selves.

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Learning to Be Soft Again

I am still learning to give myself permission to be soft. To cry without shame. To rest without guilt. To speak without fear of being misunderstood.

Healing for me has meant unlearning the belief that I always have to be okay. It has meant sitting with my emotions instead of running from them. It has meant reminding myself that my worth is not measured by how much I can endure.

We deserve to be fully human. To be loved, supported, and understood. To be seen not just for our strength, but for our hearts.

The strong Black woman does not need to disappear, but she does need to rest. She deserves to put down the weight and know that being vulnerable is not weakness. It is truth. It is healing. It is freedom.