I regard Black women as being among the most mentally and emotionally healthy people I know. It’s not that we don’t feel sad and sometimes depressed, become anxious and sometimes terrified, get angry or become outraged. It’s not that we don’t need therapy, sometimes we do to regain emotional balance.
But we’re also capable of laughing and feeling unimaginable joy even in the most dismal times. We’re strong and resilient. The ability to feel the full range of emotion that every single human being is capable of feeling, the ability to find joy inside your tears, to be courageous when you’re scared, and compassionate when you’re angry are signs of mental and emotional health.
The Black women I know exhibit that ability.
But here’s the thing: You’re bound to feel mad, sad and sacred when you live in a racialized culture that for centuries has denigrated your value, intelligence, capabilities and physical appearance, while at the same time sexualizing, demonizing and criminalizing you.
This is a culture that attacks and sometimes kills your loved ones, (accidentally or on purpose), that removes your children from your custody, and calls you crazy when you stand up for yourself. When you’re able to bounce back from all of that and still work, be active in community organizations and take care of your family, that kind of resilience is impressive. 
But living in a culture that ignores or is indifferent to the stresses and trauma unique to the experiences of Black women, and one that pathologizes your responses to the emotional harm, teaches you to hide your feelings. When Black women openly express your pain, fears, heartbreak, exhaustion, vulnerability and rage, they are accused of overreacting, being intimidating or making things up. So we learn to hide behind a mask of invulnerability as a form of self-protection. That’s an adaptive response, not a mental illness. Sometimes it just seems wiser, easier and safer to hide your pain than to show it.  
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Black women are stressed, traumatized, tired and hurt, but that doesn’t make us mentally ill. We don’t always seek professional help even when we should, because the chance of being seen by a professional who has not had your lived experience, or who cannot understand it, or who is racially biased, is real and not worth the risk. This is disempowering and can lead to feelings of helplessness, hopelessness and despair, and, within this context, it is not a sign of mental illness. 
Recently two premiere athletes, both young Black women, Simone Biles, African American, and Naomi Osaka, Black and Japanese, withdrew from important competitions to take care of their mental health. Unlike women of previous generations who sometimes adapted by going along to get along, capitulating to whatever was expected or requested of them, these two young women found their voices, expressed themselves and did what they thought was in their own best interest. The overwhelming response from the larger community was positive.
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Prioritizing self-care is essential to health and well-being, but it cannot and does not replace caring community. To be balanced, we need both. Human beings are hardwired for connection. In addition to caring for ourselves, we also need to care for and be cared for by others.
Maame Biney revealed that when she made history in 2018 as the first Black and youngest woman ever to make the U.S. Olympic short track speed skating team, she struggled with being in the limelight and felt the overwhelming weight of representing the United States. She was only 18 years old. With her smile, she masked the pressure and anxiety she felt. She almost walked away from the sport but said it was knowing that she had a community of support that wanted her to do well, and that would still be there for her even if she didn’t, that motivated her to continue.
She competed in the 2022 Olympic games. 
Now is the time for us to expand our vision of care to include support for, and caring from, our communities. It’s time to recognize that self-care is community care and that community care is self-care. Both are essential to our health and well-being.
It takes a village. 
Gail Parker, Ph.D., certified with the International Association of Yoga Therapists, is the president of the Black Yoga Teachers Alliance Board of Directors. She is the author of “Restorative Yoga for Ethnic and Race-Based Stress and Trauma” and “Transforming Ethnic and Race-Based Traumatic Stress With Yoga.”

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