Navigating Grief: A Black Woman's Journey
I often say grief is proof that we have loved, been loved, and have the capacity to always love.
Grief, an inevitable part of the human experience, touches everyone. It’s a universal language of loss, yet the way we experience and express it is deeply personal and influenced by a myriad of factors. For Black women, the journey through grief is often particularly complex. Let's get into these complexities by exploring the unique ways Black women experience grief and offering support and resources for navigating this difficult terrain. As a Black woman who has experienced the profound grief of losing my twin sister, the life I envisioned, and the ending of a significant relationship, I understand the multifaceted nature of this journey and hope to shed light on its intricacies.
The Intersectionality of Grief
Grief is not one-size-fits-all. It’s shaped by our identities, backgrounds, and the unique circumstances of our loss. As Black women, the intersectionality of race, gender, and other social factors creates a distinct lens through which we experience and express grief. Societal expectations and stereotypes can further complicate this process, dictating how we “should” grieve and often leaving us feeling isolated and misunderstood.
I was 27 when my father died. One thing I remember vividly from that period was everyone telling me to “be strong” for my mom. "Be strong," they'd say, "everything is gonna be okay." But here’s the thing: I didn't know how to be strong. I was devastated, a daddy’s girl who lost her daddy. I wasn’t given the opportunity to grieve; I was given the task of pushing through and taking care of my momma. So, I did what many do: I numbed the pain with distraction, running the streets, drinking, and empty encounters. I became addicted to numbness, turning my emotions off because when they were on, the pain of grief would hit me like a train. The thing about turning your emotions off is that you can’t pick and choose which ones you turn off; they are all gone. You walk around not experiencing joy or love, just feeling indifferent. I lived that way until I was 42… 42. Do y'all hear me?! All because I had to “be strong.” Here’s the thing no one talks about: grief will wait for you. She patiently waits for you to be exhausted from running and hiding from her, and then she hits you with a ton of bricks at the most inconvenient time, which usually makes you look "crazy" with wild outbursts over the smallest thing. For me, it showed up as anger, anger towards God to more specific. I felt like He ignored me, like my prayers made it to his spam box because the only thing I ever prayed for when my dad was sick was for him to get better. Instead, he died. God didn’t think I was good enough to get a miracle. Do you know what it’s like to exist for almost 20 years with no faith? It’s lonely. My grief also showed up as jealousy. I would see others around me living a blessed life, and I was on God’s do-not-disturb list, which caused me to disconnect. It prevented me from making genuine connections. It impacted what I accepted in life because, chiiiiiiiiiiillllllllllllle, if God didn’t want me, let me be grateful for the men who did. Unpacking that in therapy was “fun.”
Cultural Expectations and Norms
Within our community, cultural norms and expectations surrounding grief can play a significant role in how we process loss. While these norms can offer support and a sense of community, they can also create pressure to conform to certain expressions of grief. While valuable, the emphasis on strength, resilience, and faith can sometimes inadvertently discourage us from fully expressing our emotions and seeking help when needed.
Because of how “strong” I was with the loss of my dad, I was very intentional about how I grieved my sister when she passed. I allowed myself to experience and feel every emotion without distraction. I did it sober; I did it without leaning on being numb. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Sitting with it daily, having days where I couldn’t get out of bed, yelling at God… The pain, anger, and hurt all at once made me feel like I was going to die. The idea of “being strong” was so attractive that I almost signed up for a mundane existence just to function. Then one day, I smiled without guilt, said her name without crying… I made it through the other side. This time, I leaned heavily on my faith because I had reconnected to God as part of my therapy years prior, so now I had His comfort to lean on. I was honest with those around me; I was able to express the pain I was experiencing. I cried when I needed to; this time I didn’t run from it. Because I embraced grief, she handled me with care.
The “Strong Black Woman” Stereotype
The pervasive “Strong Black Woman” stereotype, while seemingly empowering, can have detrimental effects on Black women’s mental and emotional well-being. This stereotype perpetuates the expectation that we must be strong, resilient, and self-sacrificing, even in the face of immense pain and adversity. It can be discouraging, preventing us from seeking support, expressing vulnerability, and prioritizing our needs, ultimately hindering healing.
With my dad, I suffered his loss in silence. I didn’t let those around me in; I basically wore an “I’m fine” mask 24/7. With the loss of my twin, I asked for help in therapy, let my girlfriends in as part of my grief plan so I wouldn’t be isolated. The difference between grieving the two of them was night and day, the main part being I didn’t have to hide my pain. I got to experience love from those around me. On the other side, I created stronger bonds with my girls. I learned much about myself in that season; grace was the biggest lesson. I gave myself space to mess up as I figured out who I was again because, if we are being honest, we change after loss. The version of me with a twin sister died on November 3, 2022. I’ve never been this version of myself, so I had to get to know me. I chose to do that without dating, not because being with someone was a bad thing; I just knew me and how I can easily turn into a chameleon if I’m not locked in with myself. I was too raw to get to know someone new. I didn’t isolate myself during the process; I still spent time with my crew and a lot of time getting to know me.
Historical Trauma and Its Impact on Grief
The legacy of slavery and systemic racism has left a deep imprint on the collective psyche of the Black community. This historical trauma, passed down through generations, can manifest in complex grief reactions. The cumulative impact of discrimination, violence, and oppression can amplify the pain of individual loss, creating a sense of collective grief that resonates throughout the community. This intergenerational trauma, also known as historical trauma, refers to the psychological, emotional, and social impacts of historical oppression experienced by a group of people. For Black women, this can mean carrying the weight of centuries of injustice, which can resurface and intensify the pain of personal losses. It's important to acknowledge this historical context when understanding the complexities of grief in the Black community.
Coping Strategies and Resources for Black Women
Navigating grief is a deeply personal journey, but there are resources and strategies that can help. For Black women, finding culturally relevant support systems that understand our unique experiences is crucial. Therapy, support groups, and community organizations specifically designed for Black women can provide a safe space for healing and connection. Prioritizing self-care, engaging in creative expression, and connecting with loved ones are also essential components of the healing process.
Therapy: Seek out a culturally competent therapist who understands the unique challenges Black women face. Look for therapists specializing in grief counseling and trauma-informed care. Resources like Therapy for Black Girls (https://therapyforblackgirls.com/) and the Black Mental Health Alliance (https://www.blackmentalhealth.org/) can be good starting points.
Support Groups: Connect with other Black women who have experienced similar losses. Sharing experiences and connecting with others who understand can be incredibly validating and supportive. Search online for "grief support groups for Black women" or contact local community centers.
Community Organizations: Many community organizations offer grief support services and resources specifically for Black individuals and families. Check with your local NAACP chapter or other community-based organizations.
Self-Care: Prioritize self-care activities that bring you comfort and joy. This could include taking a walk in a park, listening to the sounds of the birds and feeling the sun on your skin, listening to your favorite music, journaling your thoughts and feelings, or engaging in spiritual practices like prayer or meditation.
Creative Expression: Express your grief through creative outlets such as writing, painting, music, or dance. Try writing poetry or journaling about your experiences, even if you don't consider yourself a writer. Explore different art forms and see what resonates with you.
Connection: Lean on your loved ones for support and allow yourself to be vulnerable with them. Don't be afraid to ask for help or share your feelings.
Navigating grief as a Black woman is a journey marked by unique challenges and complexities. It’s a path often interwoven with societal pressures, cultural expectations, and the weight of historical trauma. But it’s also a path paved with resilience, strength, and the unwavering capacity for love. Remember that your grief journey is valid, your feelings are real, and you are not alone. Give yourself permission to grieve in your own way, at your own pace. Embrace vulnerability, seek support when needed, and prioritize your well-being. Healing is not linear; there will be good days and bad days. Be patient with yourself, celebrate small victories, and know that hope and healing are possible even in the midst of profound loss. Your story, your strength, and your resilience are testaments to the power of the human spirit. Share this with other Black women who might need it. Let’s continue this conversation and create a community of support and understanding. You are worthy of healing, you are worthy of love, and you are worthy of peace.
