Strong Black Woman? Sis, I’m Just Trying Not to Lose My Keys...Again

Let’s start with the truth: I’m tired. Not “I could use a nap” tired. I mean “I’m mentally balancing five to-do lists, emotionally drained, and lowkey wondering if I brushed my teeth this morning” tired. And yet—folks still look at me and say, “You’re so strong.” Sis…do they mean physically? Because emotionally, I’ve had three breakdowns, cried in the car, gave myself a pep talk in the mirror, and still showed up to that Zoom meeting like I had it all together. Let’s talk about this so-called “Strong Black Woman” title. The cape. The crown. The expectation.

It sounds like a compliment. But most days, it feels like a silent contract. One where we’re expected to hold everyone else down—even while we’re slowly slipping.

The Myth We Didn't Ask For

Somewhere along the way, “strong” became our default setting. We were praised for enduring. Applauded for never complaining. Respected for powering through pain. But no one stopped to ask: At what cost? Strength became our armor and our burden. We put our grief on mute. Hid our anxiety in group texts with laughing emojis. Dressed up our depression in cute outfits. So we could continue to be “the strong one.” But what if strong isn’t what we need to be right now? What if soft is sacred? What if rest is revolutionary?

Sis, I’m Just Trying Not to Lose My Keys

That’s not a metaphor. I legit misplaced my keys three times this week. And you know why? Because my brain is overwhelmed trying to:

• Remember everyone’s birthdays,

• Keep the house somewhat clean,

• Show up at work without snapping,

• Drink enough water,

• Text everyone back,

• And pretend like I’m not falling apart inside.

So no—I’m not trying to be strong right now. I’m trying to be sane. I’m trying to breathe. I’m trying to find where I left my peace… and maybe my lip gloss.

Redefining Strength on Our Own Terms

Here’s what strength looks like these days:

• Crying when I need to. Ugly, snot-nosed, “turn this song off before I completely spiral” crying.

• Canceling plans without guilt. Because rest is a valid reason.

• Saying no without explaining myself.

• Letting my sisters love me when I can’t love myself.

• Admitting I’m not okay—without the need to be fixed.

Because real strength isn’t in how much we carry- it’s in knowing when to put it down.

💌A Word to My Sisters Wearing the Cape

To every Black woman who’s been the rock, the therapist, the peacemaker, the dependable one—You don’t owe anyone a performance of perfection. You are allowed to fall apart. You are allowed to need help. You are allowed to be soft. Quiet. Messy. Tender. You don’t have to hold the world up. Let the world hold you for once. And if today all you

managed to do was wake up, get dressed, and not scream at anyone, Sis, that’s strong enough.

Now... if you see my keys, let me know.

With love and no cape,

Sharon.