Black Does Crack

Well.

Here we are.

At sixty years old, after decades as a social listener and years as a professional listener (aka as a licensed clinical social worker), a Black woman, a mother, a friend, a church member, and occasional professional side-eyer, I’ve decided to start a blog called Black Does Crack.

Before somebody clutches pearls, calls my mama, sends prayer requests, or drafts an angry email or text, let me explain.

For years, I’ve heard some version of the same story: “Black people are strong. Black women can handle anything. We’ve survived worse. We don’t need therapy. We don’t have time to fall apart. Or for this shit.” Oh, and my personal favorite: “What happens in this house stays in this house.”

Ma’am. Sir. Respectfully, that’s how mold grows. Let’s tell the truth.

Black does crack.

Not because we’re weak. Because we’re human.

People crack under grief. People crack under trauma. People crack under racism. People crack under caregiving. People crack under church hurt. People crack under debt. People crack under trying to be everybody’s miracle while nobody asks if they’re okay.

I’ve spent years sitting across from people who believed they were failing because they were exhausted. No. You’re exhausted because you’ve been carrying a boulder on your back while pretending it’s a purse. Designer, at that.

One of the biggest lies we’ve inherited is that strength means never breaking. It doesn’t.

Strength is telling the truth about what’s broken. Strength is asking for help before the wheels come off. Strength is admitting, “I am not okay.” Strength is going to therapy. Strength is taking your medication if you need it. Strength is setting boundaries with relatives who think your peace is community property. Strength is saying no without attaching a twelve-page dissertation and three character references.

And since we’re being honest, accountability is going to live here too. I am not interested in blaming every problem on “the system” while ignoring our own choices. The system is real. Racism is real. Discrimination is real.

And, some of us also need to stop dating walking red flags, spending money we don’t have, avoiding difficult conversations, and calling dysfunction “culture.” Both things can be true (dialectical thinking). See? That’s where people get nervous.

I believe in compassion. I also believe in accountability. You can be wounded and responsible. You can be traumatized and responsible. You can be struggling and responsible.

The goal isn’t shame. The goal is freedom.

This blog will talk about mental health, faith, family, relationships, aging, grief, resilience, therapy, recovery, boundaries, church culture, and all the ways we avoid looking in the mirror.

There will be humor. There will be hard truths. There will be stories. There will probably (okay, more than likely) be moments when somebody gets mad. I’m comfortable with that (in fact, if you don’t, I have absolutely dropped the ball).

At sixty, one of the gifts of aging is realizing that disagreement has never actually killed anybody. And what silence kills is growth.

So welcome. Pull up a chair. Get comfortable. Bring your faith, your questions, your skepticism, your trauma, your hope, and your sense of humor. Leave perfection at the door. Because around here, we’re going to tell the truth: Black does crack.

And that’s exactly why healing matters.