“Makes me wonder is everyone’s life like this,” I tapped into the messaging app.
Delete, delete, delete. Retype…pause…send.
“Cuz it’s just been one thing after another for me and like how much can a person take?” I added to the thread.
My words landed heavy because I hadn’t yet given myself permission to feel that — let alone share it with anyone.
Within minutes, my friend replied, “Right, you’ve been through so much.”
Those six small words were like a broken levee. As soon as the message appeared on my screen, tears and unrelenting emotions washed over me.
For the first time in months, the fallen drops weren’t from the ache I lugged around like a weighted barbell. These tears were confirmation that someone sees me.
Someone sees the herculean task of pushing forward when mental fog covers your direction.
Someone understands that warding off negative feelings is a treacherous and lonely battle.
Someone sees the supernatural gift to always give your best even when people give you their absolute worst.
At the time, I was healing (read: unraveling) in my sister’s basement. Her house became my safe haven when mine became too quiet and my emotions roared loud like ragers on frat row.
It was my first time in the Philly area in three years, but a voice note revealed an unexpected catch in my voice. That was all my sister needed to hear to welcome me back home.
Here’s the thing:
Much like the “strong” label is often thrust upon you, dropping the mask likely won’t be a choice. I’d be lying if I said it was for me.
Nope.
I clung to the “strong Black woman” role like a badge of honor. I smiled through the pain to create palatable environments. And when my emotions ran high, I swayed to ease the anxiety raging inside me.
If I’ve learned anything from watching the women in my life, it’s how to solve a problem. How to pour into others despite being parched myself. How to fix the proverbial hole in the wall.
Except…I. was. exhausted. I needed to be still.
Take it from me: It’s not your job to fix what you didn’t fracture. You’re not a handywoman or superwoman. Could it be time to tap into new strengths?
It was for me. And every day that I bawled my eyes out over the birds and sobbed to the stars, I learned to surrender a little more.
I knew I wasn’t strong enough to carry this burden alone. Nor was I willing to try. And I wasn’t going to fight (or compete) for a title I already earned.
So, I stopped.
I stopped pretending to be strong.
As unnatural as it felt, I let others care for me
When I lacked capacity, I allowed others to take over.
I accepted support.
I took more than I gave.
And I was brutally honest about the anger that was getting harder to suppress.
Sis, I’m not lucky. I simply chose to allow my family and friends to show up for me.
Whether it was a finished basement, the crook of a friend’s neck or a back rub, I didn’t protest. They created a safe space for me when my nervous system only saw danger and I let it happen.
And you know what?
No longer pretending to be strong might have been the strongest thing I’ve ever done.
