Kendall

Lately I have been thinking about my relationship with perfectionism. This unrealistic expectation I have of myself to always be presentable, when sometime inside I feel as if the world is crumbling around me. As a Black Woman I don’t feel like I have the privilege to show too much emotion, concern, or fear. There is this unspoken rule amongst Black Women that if folks see an ounce of our true raw form that we will be seen as weak or incapable. Where does this unrealistic depiction of perfection stem from?

Vulnerability and perfection can not coexist. I grew up in a household of women who did not shed tears, that needed to be strong even in their weakest moments, and believed that they were all that they had. I watched as my grandmother and mother embodied this perfect depiction of what I thought a Black Woman should be. Later wondering why I could never achieve that level of strength and resiliency in the face of some of my most scariest moments. Truth was it was not real! Perfectionism was a facade to mask their vulnerabilities. 

When sadness poured over us as children my grandmother and mother would say eat something and take a nap. We were only allowed 24hrs to process our emotions and the next day let it go, because we were “strong and could get through anything. As if food, rest, and 24 hours of  compartmentalizing my emotions could cure the chaos of anxiety or sadness swirling around in my head. 

The older I got the more I began to embody this practice of hiding my vulnerability with perfectionism. I never allowed folks to see me hurting. I was the happy and nurturing friend that had it together, that everyone came to for support. All while inside I was crumbling and trying to figure out how to put all my pieces together by myself. 

There is one moment that replays in my mind often, that really sparked my internal conversation about vulnerability. During my 20’s my grammy was diagnosed with a rare form of liver cancer, she went through countless surgeries and seen several specialists over a span of 3 years. In her final year when we had exhausted all our options and there was no other choices than to make her comfortable for her transition.  I remember asking her “Grammy are you afraid?”, she looked me in the eyes and with a gentle smile she said “I am only afraid if you are.”

At that moment so much sadness fell over me, not just because she was passing. It was the fact that even on her final days she felt the need to be strong for me despite what she was going through. Since that day I have been thinking about how she got to that moment as well as how her perception of strength has been passed down to my mother and me. I have realized that a majority of my ideas of what it meant to be a Strong Black Woman had come from a space of fear, a fear of being seen as weak or incapable. 

I am going to be honest dismantling the strong Black Woman Archetype is hard, it is probably the hardest thing that I will continue to battle. The day it hit me the hardest that I needed to make a change was during my 27th year of life. One morning before work, I drove myself down to the docks not far from my house. I  just sat there and cried. I was angry, sad, and frustrated. My mind was running with thoughts and the loudest one was telling me to drive my jeep into the ocean. At that moment, I thought that I was unworthy of this life. I could no longer take the hurt and shame. That day, Spirit reminded me of my worth as I was sitting in the car, my mom called me. That phone call was everything I needed at that moment. She saved my life and didn’t even know it. When I went home,  I reached out to my good friend and she referred me to a therapist. It was time for me to face this void that was growing inside of me. That was a pivotal moment in my life; It was the day I decided to allow myself ease and tenderness for the first time. 

For the first time in my years alive on this planet, I asked someone for support. It still to this day breaks my heart that it took the moment of me wanting to take my life to inspire me to finally seek support. From that moment on I have been dedicated to investing in myself by all means possible. The things that have supported me the most have been therapy, my community, and being vulnerable with people that love me about my emotions.   

Mental health and healing are such an important piece of my journey because I am allowing myself space to feel and process emotions that my ancestors did not have the space to do. It is my duty to the generations that follow me to be vulnerable about my fears, uncertainties, and be honest about how to work through them. 

My hope for my mental wellbeing in the future is that I remember I am always deserving of all the joy, ease, and tenderness this world has to give me. That I do not have to hide my vulnerabilities behind this mask of perfectionism and resiliency. My ability to be vulnerable is a strength.