The Weight of Strength: Why I No Longer Desire to Be a “Strong Black Woman”

This past weekend, I had a conversation with my mom that left me reflecting deeply on something I’ve felt for a long time but haven’t always had the words to express. She was trying to encourage me, reminding me of my strength—of how I come from a long line of strong Black women, including herself.

But instead of feeling empowered, I felt exhausted.

I told her, “I don’t want to be strong.”

I could hear the disappointment in her voice. And immediately, I felt guilty—not because I didn’t mean it, but because I knew how much pride she took in that title. She had carried it with grace, with resilience, with a quiet power that had shaped the woman I am today. But even with all of that admiration and gratitude, I still felt the way I felt:

I don’t want to carry the weight of being a “strong Black woman.”

The Unspoken Cost of Strength

For so many of us, that title—while honorable—feels like a burden. It’s a badge we didn’t always ask for but were given nonetheless. It’s the expectation to push through, to endure, to take care of everyone while rarely being taken care of ourselves.

I’ve seen my mother, my aunts, my sister-friends wear this title with pride, but I’ve also seen the exhaustion in their eyes. I’ve witnessed the unspoken sacrifices, the silent battles fought alone. And while some embrace this role wholeheartedly, I know that for me, I no longer want to live under the expectation that strength means never resting, never being vulnerable, never feeling safe enough to put the weight down.

Rest Is Necessary

This isn’t about rejecting the legacy of strong Black women—it’s about expanding what that legacy can look like. Strength is beautiful, but so is softness. So is vulnerability. So is saying, I need help. So is saying, I deserve rest.

I want that for myself. But more than that, I want it for the women who came before me—the ones who have carried so much without ever being given the space to put it down.

So today, I’m choosing something different. I honor my mother, my ancestors, and all the incredible women in my life—but I also honor my own need for balance.

And if you’ve ever felt the weight of this title pressing down on you, I want you to know: You don’t have to carry it alone. You are still worthy, still valuable, even when you choose to rest.

What Do You Think?

Let’s talk about it. How do you feel about the title of strong Black woman? Do you embrace it, or do you, like me, feel its weight? Drop a comment below—I’d love to hear your thoughts.