The Problem With the “Strong Black Woman” Label
Strength is celebrated, but it is also weaponized. The label of the “strong Black woman” is often delivered like a compliment, but beneath it is an expectation—a demand—that we be resilient without rest, powerful without support, and enduring without complaint.
It tells us we can carry anything. And so, people give us everything to carry—grief, responsibility, injustice, the unspoken labor of making everyone else comfortable. It assumes our backs will never break, our hearts will never tire, and our needs can always wait.
I have worn that label like armor. It has kept me standing in rooms where my presence was challenged, my competence was doubted, and my humanity was overlooked. But armor is heavy. And no one tells you that when you’re celebrated for being unbreakable, people stop checking to see if you’re okay.
The problem is not that I am strong—it’s that the world uses my strength as an excuse to ignore my humanity. When I am hurting, I am told I am “built for this.” When I am tired, I am told I’m “so resilient.” Those words are meant to uplift, but they can also be a leash—keeping me in place, carrying more than is fair, without the freedom to set it down.
I have learned that it is okay to be strong and vulnerable at the same time. It is okay to cry, to rest, to say “this is too much.” Strength does not require perfection. It does not mean being untouched by pain. And it certainly does not excuse exhaustion or isolation.
We must redefine what it means to be strong—not as an unshakable pillar that others lean on without question, but as a living, breathing source of power we actively nurture for ourselves. A strength that has boundaries. A strength that allows space for softness, for joy, for help.
Because I am not just strong for the sake of enduring, I am strong so that I can live, love, and lead fully—without losing myself in the process.
