One of the stories that stayed with me from the 26 Black Women storytelling series came from a woman describing what it felt like to sit in a doctor’s office during cancer treatment and hear the word “delay” again.
Another delay.
Another complication.
Another moment where the finish line kept moving further away.
By that point, she had already endured years of treatments, isolation, medical procedures, uncertainty, physical exhaustion, emotional exhaustion, and trying to rebuild a life that had been interrupted almost overnight.
And when the doctor explained that her body was having another serious reaction and that recovery would once again be pushed back, she said something inside her snapped.
Not publicly.
Not in a way anybody else in the room could see.
But internally, she described feeling like she was losing her mind in real time.
She talked about sitting there imagining herself tearing the room apart because she was just that overwhelmed, that exhausted, and that tired of hearing that things were going to take even longer.
And honestly, I think what struck me most about that moment was not just the medical crisis itself.
It was how much of her emotional unraveling remained invisible to the people around her.
Because even while privately falling apart, she was still being viewed as “strong.”
That word came up several times throughout our conversation.
Strong.
The woman who handles things.
The woman with faith.
The woman who keeps going.
The woman who survives.
The woman everybody assumes is okay because she’s still functioning.
But listening to her speak made me think about how often Black women are praised for surviving things that are actively breaking them apart emotionally.
Not because they aren’t struggling.
But because they’ve learned how to struggle quietly.
When “Strong” Becomes the Only Thing People See
One of the most painful parts of the conversation was hearing her describe what it feels like when people only see the strength and never the emotional cost attached to it.
At one point, she talked about how people saw her making it through cancer treatment, but they didn’t see what the making it through was costing her mentally.
That part sat heavy with me.
Because I think a lot of Black women know what it feels like to keep functioning while privately carrying fear, emotional exhaustion, overwhelm, grief, anger, disappointment, or hopelessness.
And sometimes the functionality hides the distress.
If she’s still showing up, people assume she’s okay.
If she’s still praying, people assume she’s emotionally stable.
If she’s still encouraging everybody else, people assume she doesn’t need support herself.
But being capable and being okay are not always the same thing.
And I think that distinction gets missed all the time with Black women.
Faith Didn’t Erase Her Fear
One of the most powerful parts of the episode was hearing her talk about the tension between faith and emotional honesty.
She spoke openly about growing up in environments where faith was often treated like the answer to everything, while emotions like fear, discouragement, frustration, or exhaustion were treated like signs that your faith was weak.
But during her illness, she realized something important:
faith and fear can exist in the same body at the same time.
Gratitude and exhaustion can coexist.
Hope and frustration can coexist.
Trusting God and feeling emotionally overwhelmed can coexist.
And honestly, I think that’s a conversation more Black women need space to have.
Because too often, Black women feel pressure to present strength spiritually, emotionally, physically, and mentally all at once.
Especially in crisis.
Especially in church spaces.
Especially when everybody around them has already decided they’re “the strong one.”
The Emotional Aftermath Nobody Talks About
Another thing she said that stayed with me was that surviving something publicly doesn’t mean you’ve emotionally recovered from it privately.
Even after treatment.
Even after people celebrate the miracle.
Even after everybody says how blessed you are to still be here.
There can still be grief.
There can still be anger.
There can still be exhaustion.
There can still be emotional fallout from everything it took to survive.
And I think sometimes people become so focused on the fact that a Black woman “made it through” that they stop asking what the process of making it through actually did to her.
That part matters too.
The emotional aftermath matters too.
The rebuilding matters too.
The mental exhaustion matters too.
Especially for Black women who often feel pressure to return to normal quickly, return to serving quickly, return to smiling quickly, or return to being emotionally available for everybody else before they’ve even had space to process what they survived themselves.
Black Women Deserve More Than Praise for Endurance
Listening to this story reminded me how often Black women receive admiration instead of support.
People admire the resilience.
They admire the faith.
They admire the perseverance.
They admire how much she can carry.
But admiration is not the same thing as being emotionally supported.
And at some point, we have to create more room for Black women to be human before they reach a breaking point.
Not just strong.
Not just resilient.
Not just inspiring.
Human.
The kind of human who sometimes gets tired.
Sometimes feels overwhelmed.
Sometimes needs help.
Sometimes needs to say, “I’m not okay,” without feeling like she’s disappointing everybody around her.
And maybe that’s part of what living supported really means.
Not waiting until a Black woman completely falls apart before finally making room for her pain.
The reflections in this piece were inspired by conversations from the 26 Black Women storytelling series on the Shades of Strong podcast, where Black women shared honest stories about emotional exhaustion, caregiving, burnout, faith, healing, and the realities of always being expected to stay strong.
One of the conversations that deeply shaped this reflection was Mary Sims’ story about navigating illness, emotional overwhelm, faith, and the loneliness that can come with always being seen as “the strong one.”
Listen to her episode here.
These conversations continue shaping the work I do through Shades of Strong and the Support Languages framework, both centered on helping Black women redefine strength and build lives rooted in real support.
Resources to Support You:
- Schedule a 1:1 Support Session
- Get the Guide: “You Know Your Support Language™—Now What?”
- Take the Support Language™ Assessment. and learn how you actually receive support best.
- Get Support Right in Your Inbox: Gentle words, real-life reflection, and soft reminders every week
Shirl is the creator of Support Languages™ and host of Shades of Strong® — a movement shifting the narrative from Strong Black Woman to Supported Black Woman™ through language, rest, and real support.
