During my travels in life, I have seen many sisters in pain, young and old, walking around like the living dead. I just want to hug them and tell them that it will be okay. That I know it is not easy living a society that tells Black women that we are ugly and no one wants us. A society that has shown Black women and our children historically that our lives are not worth anything. That type of constant degradation can break your spirit and cause depression and I know about depression. I have struggled with depression my entire life and it is a constant battle for survival.

Mental health issues run in my family. Some of my relatives were bipolar and my aunt and cousin were schizophrenics. Due to my family’s issues, I did not want to admit I was depressed; I did not want to deal with the stigma. Even after I was molested from ages 11 to 15, became promiscuous and had a baby at 16, I did not want to admit I had a problem.  But when I was 21 and pregnant with my son, I decided to commit suicide. I was pregnant again, not married, second baby daddy, and I felt lower than a snake. One Sunday night, I swallowed a bottle of prenatal iron pills but I got scared and called 911. I spent 21 days in the psychiatric department of Chicago Osteopathic Hospital. I thought I had issues but there were some real characters in there with me. Lucky for me my son turned out perfectly normal and weighed 9 pounds.

I persevered on in denial though and it took several years, abusive relationships, and a constant need for validation from others until I decided to take back my life. I went to college, excelled and learned that I had so much to offer the world.  I concentrated on raising my children who are my link with immortality. The youngest graduated this spring this year and she is my third college graduate. A poor Black mother from the South Side of Chicago saw all three of her children graduate from college when according to statistics; they weren’t supposed to be shit. My eldest daughter is supposed to have 10 children by 8 different men, be working at Amazon, and living in public housing. My son is supposed to be jail bird with a record as long a highway and my baby girl is supposed to be a pill addict.  But they didn’t because I was not going to allow my children to become products of the ghetto like I was.

The last few years for me have been mixed with both joy and pain. I saw the birth of my second grandchild but I have lost so many people I loved. My brother, cousins, and so many friends died. I was diagnosed with epilepsy and my short term memory is severely damaged due to the anti-seizure medication I take daily but I am back in graduate school pursuing a MA degree in history. I am dealing with the possibility that I will not be able to work a full-time job anymore at the age of 53 but a large part of me really doesn’t care because I am tired as fuck.

Tired of humping all the time in this hustle and grind culture we live in. Tired of breaking my back for corporations who do not care about their employees and will have another warm body in my place the next day if I dropped dead on the job. All I want to do is exist. It has felt good not having to get up and go to work. I got laid off a week before Christmas and the person I used to be would have been bewailing and crying but this time, I took it in stride. Somehow for some reason, I know that good tidings are coming my way and I am not about to be stressed about some raggedy ass little job. I deserve the world and I am going to get it. I have decided to lay down my burdens and rest for awhile and I advice all Black women to do the same thing. We are literally killing ourselves and it is time to stop. Being strong is necessary but stop being strong for everyone but yourselves. Just chill and go with the flow ladies in this New Year. The Curse of the Strong Black Woman is that we concentrate on everything but ourselves and it is time to be selfish. Fuck everyone and everything that does not bring you joy.