Black Does Crack

Let’s Be Honest…

There are sports they forgot to put in the Olympics. Competitive people-pleasing. Synchronized emotional suppression. Extreme over-functioning. And my personal favorite: answering “How are you?” with “I’m blessed!” while your nervous system is somewhere in the corner screaming into a throw pillow. And quite frankly, if these were Olympic events, Black folks would have endorsements. Especially Black women. Because we’ve been conditioning for this competition since childhood. Raise your hand if you’ve had the, “Oh, you’re tired? Keep going.” “You can cry after it’s done.” “Don’t let them see you sweat.” “Pray about it.” “Handle your business,” answers to treating your mental, emotional and physical health. Translation? Whatever you’re feeling, please don’t make it inconvenient for anybody else.

So we became masters of emotional CrossFit. We lift impossible expectations. We carry everybody’s baggage. We deadlift generational trauma. And somehow we’re expected to smile while doing it because apparently melanin comes with free emotional labor. Spoiler alert: It does not.

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Here’s What’s Really Going On…

Your nervous system doesn’t speak fluent “I’m fine.” It speaks headaches. It speaks panic attacks. It speaks high blood pressure. It speaks insomnia. It speaks forgetting why you walked into the kitchen seventeen times a day (I just did that shit just yesterday!). As therapists, we call this emotional suppression. It’s a brilliant survival strategy. If you’ve spent your life believing your emotions weren’t safe, weren’t welcome, or weren’t important, your brain learns to tuck them away so you can keep moving. But emotions don’t disappear. They relocate. From your heart… to your body. And your body eventually says, “Excuse me, ma’am, sir… we need to discuss some unresolved business.”

Listen, think of emotions like glitter. You can vacuum. Sweep. Mop. Dust. Burn sage. Move houses. Six months later you’ll still find glitter in places that make absolutely no sense. That’s what ignored feelings do.

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Now Here’s the Plot Twist…

I’m not suggesting you tell every stranger in Target your life story. The cashier doesn’t need your childhood trauma. She’s trying to scan your paper towels. But somewhere between telling everybody everything and telling nobody anything lives healing. Find people who can hear your truth without trying to fix it. Find people who don’t answer every hard conversation with, “Just pray about it.” “Everything happens for a reason.” “At least…” Sometimes healing sounds less like advice… and more like, “Damn. That must’ve been hard.” Can we also retire this idea that the strongest person is the one who never asks for help? Cause, that shit ain’t strength. That’s unpaid overtime. The reward for always being “the strong one” is almost always… more work. More responsibility. More expectations. It’s a terrible employee benefits package!

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Here’s What I Hope You Remember…

Black people have survived things that should have broken us. That resilience deserves to be celebrated. But survival is not the finish line. Healing is. You don’t have to perform strength every day. You don’t have to earn rest. You don’t have to smile while your spirit is filing complaints with HR. So, the next time someone asks how you’re doing… you don’t owe them your autobiography. But don’t lie to yourself, either. Because despite what we’ve all been taught… Black does crack. Not because we’re weak. Not because we’re fragile. Because we’re human. And human beings weren’t designed to carry generations of expectations while pretending everything is okay.

The medals aren’t worth what they cost.

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Until next time… take care of your mind. The cracks are trying to tell you something.

— Black Does Crack