“Superwoman”

I bleed. I break. I cry. And someday I’ll die, just like everyone else.

I was born a Black woman for a reason —for many reasons, really. I think God knew that only a Black woman could love the way I do. Only a Black woman could “handle it all” the way I do. Only a Black woman could nurture community the way I do. So, I was always destined to be a Black woman.

But I also think God made me a Black woman to better understand the world I live in. I’m so independent because I I learned that the world will not soften for me. I’m so hardworking because I learned I have to do 10x as much work for a half-assed thank you. I’m so “put together” because this world does not allow me to fall apart. Instead, I am labeled “Superwoman.”

An unsolicited badge of honor that really comes with no honor at all. Because I am often unappreciated and undervalued. Simply expected to live up to such high expectations because the world demands it. I am commended for powering through grief instead of breaking down. I am praised for crossing my boundaries to make someone else comfortable. I am celebrated for putting my life on the line despite having a family that needs me.

People will say they are so in awe of how I “do it all” and demand something from me in the same breath. There are no days off for Superwoman. There is no rest for Black women. No wonder I am always tired.

My grandma is a Black woman. My grandma is “Superwoman.” At 78, I see what the expectations have done to her. How they have stiffened her aching hands and permanently damaged her shoulders. That is what carrying the weight of the world will do to a Black woman’s body.

At 29, I’m already experiencing the side-effects myself. Sleep deprivation, coffee addiction, anxiety, depression, a conscious desire to disappear just to get a break. My back aches some days, my chest tightens when I’m overwhelmed. But as a Black woman, I’ve accepted the symptoms of society and decided to live anyway. Some would call that rebellion, I call it survival. What other choice do I have?

Previous
Previous

Deeply Rooted by Stephanie C. Burton

Next
Next

Liberation