I read a newsletter on Black Ballad the other day. Their founder and CEO Tobi Oredein had written a piece titled ‘I Agree – I’m Tired of Being Called Resilient’. She’d written about her experience of being praised as the Strong Black Woman, persevering against all odds and keeping it together regardless of how many knocks she takes. She herself, had been inspired by film director Zandashé Brown, who had tweeted:

“I dream of never being called resilient again in my life. I’m exhausted by strength. I want support. I want softness. I want ease. I want to be amongst kin. Not patted on the back for how well I take a hit. Or for how many.”

I found myself nodding as I read, each new paragraph triggering memories that drifted up from the shallows of my subconscious. It was that word: resilient. I’ve heard it a lot, this past year especially. It often comes as an applause for remaining mentally strong despite the force of the hits that I take.

“You are so resilient, you know that?”

“You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

It was flattering once. It felt nice to be seen and acknowledged for my struggle. Though, these days I can’t help but feel a type of way when I hear it. Because really who they’re applauding is my Strong Black Woman. However, she is not always someone I am trying to emulate.

For generations, Black Women have been socialised to internalise and accept the Strong Black Woman by both the media and our community. The Strong Black Woman Schema, as defined by scholars, is an architype for the ‘ideal’ Black Woman. She is the product of intersectional oppression: an ideal conceived under the weight of societal expectation. She is resilient: both emotionally and physically strong. She is emotionally restraint, as vulnerability is a weakness she cannot afford. She is somehow independent, while simultaneously carrying the burdens of her community. And she is unreservedly selfless to the detriment of her being.

There is no doubt about the impact the schema has on Black Women societally; Oredein highlighted that perfectly. But what her founder’s letter really got me thinking about, is how the schema has impacted my personal relationships.

It contributed to an anti-damsel-in-distress type complex within me. As a teenager/young adult, I’d see various non-Black female peers – the princesses in towers – who could rely on their knights to swoop them up and save them: heal their wounds and kiss their scars. Each of them enamoured by their facial expressions, frown lines and their causes.

And then there was me, more Humpty Dumpty than Rapunzel, who would silently take great falls, but could not expect the help of the king’s horses or the king’s men to put me back together again. But, that’s not to say that none of them gathered around me, for there were days when those knights did journey to my wall: the sun glistening on their shining armour. Though, this was rarely ever something to be celebrated. For it would somehow always end up being me, Humpty and all her pieces, who would give parts of myself away to help hold them together.

I discussed this once in therapy, how I held space for people and their burdens, however carried all of mine on my own. I understood that it’s okay to at times rely on the strength of others, but somehow, that rule didn’t apply to me. I didn’t feel like I could be ‘weak’. I didn’t feel like someone would catch me if I fell. Instead, I felt the pressure to always be strong, to never crack, be vulnerable or soft. I felt the pressure to be ‘perfect’, always switched on and smiling. I felt the pressure to be fixed and mended; my strength felt expected and it was tiring.

I acknowledge that a part of that behaviour was routed in my own unique complexes, however today I look back and see the way in which some of the pressure I felt was a manifestation of my Strong Black Woman. Because, while she is expected to care for all, she is taught to rely on none but herself.

“It often feels that as a woman, as a black women, we are only celebrated, loved and applauded for our resilience. Our ability to keep going and survive in systems that oppress us day in and day out can often feel like the only way others see us as human or see us as worthy of praise.”

– Tobi Oredein

The media has a huge impact on the schema, but like many things, learning first begins in the home.

Little Black girls watch their mothers and grandmothers as they grow up. They subconsciously register their expressions and mannerisms: absorbing their resilience and oppression. Their eyes are like tape recorders that immortalise their heavy frames, dragging feet to a stove after a long day, catching the tears of lovers after their own heartbreak, holding their backs up like bridges for grown men to cross. They idolise being a good Woman, a reliable Woman, a strong Woman. They internalise being the kind of Woman who always stays. They grow up never seeing their mothers cry or break. They grow up worshiping their selflessness.

And you cannot blame our mothers for it. For they in turn learnt it from their mothers, who held onto the same lessons that they took from the Women around them. The Women who were raised to be pillars to their community. The Women who were subjected to misogynoir by their counterparts. The Women who were expected to be superhuman while being treated as subhuman. The strong Women. Black Women.

“The resilience and strength that women, black women have everyday to keep going in the face of misogynoir is something to be admired. But it is robbing us of being the ones who need to be saved, the people who need help, the women who are vulnerable.”

 – Tobi Oredein

I know there is a point at which the Strong Black Woman schema is beneficial. I know there is a place for the strength she has taught me to uphold. I know that it is the very same resilience that has kept me moving on days when I could no longer feel my legs and I know that it is her compassion that has fed into the boundlessness of my affection for the ones that I love.

But it is her emotional restraint that has numbed and silenced me. It is her need for strength that has prevented my wounds from healing. It is her caregiving instinct that has led to me laying my time, my love and my energy at the feet of others while needing, however seeking nothing in return. And it is her idolisation that means that there is no place for the Vulnerable Black Woman, but she’s the one we should be praising. She is the one we need to make room for.

‘You’re so resilient’.

‘You’re one of the strongest people I know’.

It was flattering once, but now it makes me a little bit sad. I am a Black Woman who throughout her life has rarely felt safe or comfortable enough to break and who has rarely ever felt like there is room for me to. Like Brown and Oredein, I dream of never being called resilient again. Not because I don’t want resilience or strength as attributes, but because I no longer want to have to be. It was flattering once, but what if I no longer want to be the Strong Black Woman? *Sips Tea*