“Why I’m Over Pretending To Be A ‘Strong Black Woman’”

Growing up, I learned to shape-shift. Living in a society that demanded I conform to Western norms (ones which simultaneously rejected me as a young Black woman) meant a constant balancing act.

As a teenager, micro-aggressions from neighbours, shop keepers following me around as if I could be a criminal and being heckled by strangers on my walk to school just for rocking my Afro were common experiences. Then there were the handful of racist teachers who undermined my intelligence daily. I mostly laughed these incidents off –learning to adapt and internalise rejection – what else was a strong girl supposed to do?

Racism, misogyny and misogynoir were endemic in the world around me. Looking back, it fundamentally affected my psyche – to the point that I became resistant to accepting help, compliments or acceptance. Activating my ‘strong Black woman’ button as if it was a superpower became my coping mechanism – a badge of honour shaped by generations’ worth of resilience in the face of adversity.

But this expectation put upon Black women to be unbreakable – even when we’re hurting – erases the complexities of our experiences, harming us emotionally, physically, financially... the toll is endless.

Psychotherapist Sharnade George explains how the strong Black woman label has impacted our ‘self-concept’: “Our self-concept is a collection of beliefs, perceptions and evaluations we hold about ourselves which is shaped by history, culture, the world, people and our experiences. We put pressure on ourselves to always be there and perform at our best, which can lead to judging ourselves harshly when we are not doing as well, having a lack of self-compassion and feeling inadequate. This ongoing cycle will develop into depression or anxiety.”

The strong Black woman trope reinforces the idea that we can somehow handle more than others. It silences us in moments of vulnerability, pushing us to ignore the reality of our mental health needs instead of seeking support.

Everywhere we look, this narrative is enforced by pop culture. From TV shows and films to music and social media, we’re inundated with portrayals of Black women who ‘have it all together’. There’s Olivia Pope in Scandal, Annalise Keating in How To Get Away With Murder, and my favourite TV sitcom mums (Rainbow from Grownish, Jay from My Wife and Kids, Rochelle from Everybody Hates Chris, to name a few). All of these characters embody the same characteristi cs: powerful, resilient women constantly pushing forward regardless of personal trauma. Sure, this is entertainment and their struggles are sensationalised, but it is a mirror to what society expects of us. Rarely do we see these characters afforded the space to fully break down and be cared for. 

This has also been a hot topic in the world of sport. Serena Williams, Naomi Osaka and Simone Biles have all repeatedly proven their champion status, but when they’ve openly spoken out about their mental health struggles, they are torn down. Serena has been framed as ‘angry’, while both Simone and Naomi were labelled ‘fragile’ for prioritising their mental wellbeing over the expectations placed upon them.

The myth that Black women should handle everything without breaking is insidious, and rooted in centuries of dehumanisation. “It has impacted the way we think, feel and the foundation of our personal identity,” adds George. “If all we’ve known is to be that strong woman passed down intergenerationally through our mothers, subconsciously we begin to internalise this.”

Within Black communities, discussing mental health and seeking help often comes with its own set of stigmas. George notes that, for many of us who grew up in African and Caribbean households: “If you seek help for your mental health, this means that you are weak, you lack faith in God or you’re sometimes looked at as the ‘crazy one’, who does not know how to cope. This can further complicate women’s mental health journeys because it can make them more reluctant in seeking the help they need.”

A 2016 study of students at medical colleges in the US found that half of Caucasian medical students and residents held at least one false belief about biological differences between Black people and their white counterparts, and were more likely to underestimate Black patients’ pain. This historical mistrust of the medical profession stems from a legacy of mistreatment and neglect, and the stereotype that we can ‘endure more’. For example, statistically, Black women are more than four times more likely to die in pregnancy or childbirth than their white counterparts in the UK.

So, where does this leave Black women when it comes to getting mental health support? We need to create safe spaces to express vulnerability and access mental health care without judgment.

“When we believe that we’re meant to be perfectly put together all the time, we do not have safe spaces to be vulnerable and express our emotions, which is vital for good mental health and can often be a lifeline,” says confidence coach Tiwalola Adebayo. The author of Confident And Killing It, and founder of the empowerment platform of the same name, she has committed her career into equipping Black women through positive psychology with the mindset, tools, and techniques they need “to navigate difficult emotions, win mental battles and be vulnerable”.

“It’s essential for Black women to be able to prioritise their mental wellbeing without judgement,” she adds. “In our community, for example, we ensure women feel seen, heard and valued by giving them space to share their stories and experiences, redefine strength on their own terms and celebrate both resilience and rest.”

How can we counteract the pressure to be strong? Adebayo’s advice: “Surround yourself online and offline with women who embrace open and honest conversations, invest in their wellbeing and don’t aim for perfection.”

Black women such as Taraji P Henson, who founded the Boris Lawrence Henson Foundation to provide mental health resources to the Black community, and hip-hop star Megan Thee Stallion, who created Bad Bitches Have Bad Days Too – a platform featuring a hub of mental health and wellness resources – are also leading the way in breaking down these stigmas. Then there’s Therapy For Black Girls, a platform, podcast and virtual support system for Black women based in the US to access mental health support.

UK-based resources such as Black Minds Matter UK and The Black, African and Asian Therapy Network are bridging the gap in accessible, culturally competent therapy for Black women by connecting them with Black therapists and offering supportive resources including workshops and community events. There’s also The Health Collective in London, which emerged from the urgent need to do more to ensure all women receive the best care, tackling health inequality for women from marginalised communities.

The support is there, we just need to make sure Black women know how to access it. The reality is that no-one should be expected to carry the weight of the world alone, because seeking help is not a sign of weakness – it’s an act of self-preservation.

Sheilla Mamona is a freelance journalist with bylines at British Vogue, Marie Claire, GLAMOUR, among many other publications