The Weight of Being Unbreakable

I’m tired of being strong.

As Black girls, we don’t get to be broken.

From the moment we enter this world, it feels like an unspoken decree is placed upon us: Be strong. Be resilient. Persevere. strength isn’t just a virtue; it’s presented as our only option for survival. We see it in our mothers, our grandmothers, our aunties – women who carried burdens that would crush others, yet they stood tall, unwavering. They taught us to do the same.

And I internalized it. I learned to swallow my tears, to fix my face, to push through the hurt, to be the rock for everyone else, even when my own foundation was crumbling.

I learned that showing vulnerability, expressing deep pain, or admitting that I was at my limit wasn’t just a sign of weakness; it’s a luxury I can’t afford. Because who will pick up the pieces if the “strong one” shatters?

But what does it mean to be broken?

Broken is the cumulation of exhaustion. It’s the kind of tired that sleep can’t fix. It’s the unshed tears that burn, the quiet despair that no one sees because I’ve mastered the art of having a brave smile. It’s the weight of carrying everyone else’s burdens, of constantly proving my worth. It’s feeling my resilience become a cage. It’s the pain of putting my joy and my softness on hold because there are always more pressing matters, more fights to be fought, more people who need my “strength.” It’s the silent ache of delaying my healing, my own rest, my own pursuit of simple happiness because the world demands my unwavering strength.

Black women are told that our strength is our superpower, our inheritance, our duty. But sometimes, I just want to lay down the cape. Sometimes, I want to shatter into a million pieces and know that someone else will help me put them back together.

I want to redefine broken. I want it to mean a moment of essential vulnerability, a necessary collapse before rebuilding. I want it to be an invitation for empathy, not a reason for dismissal. I want us as women, to have the space to not just be strong, but to be soft, to be weary, to be flawed, and to be utterly, completely broken without fear of being forgotten, judged, or left to pick up our own pieces in the dark.

Because true strength isn’t about never breaking. It’s about being allowed to break, and then finding the courage to heal.