A Black Girl Wrote This

Being strong is killing me—and y’all are still applauding.

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I dream of never being called resilient again.

Because resilience meant I had to keep surviving things I never should have endured.

And I’m tired.

Tired of being everyone’s strong friend.
Tired of being the one who always bounces back.
Tired of being admired for how many hits I can take.

I don’t want your applause for how well I recover.

I want your care so I don’t have to keep recovering.

🔥 The Tea:
Strength isn’t a personality trait. It’s an emergency exit.
And if you’re constantly pulling that alarm to prove you’re worthy? You’re not surviving—you’re being played.

Some of us were raised to believe that being strong was a requirement. But strength without support is a sentence. And I’m ready for parole.

I want ease.
I want support.
I want softness.
I want to live a life that doesn’t ask me to prove I’m built for pain just to earn love.

Let that be enough.

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Where Did This Start?

Let’s be honest. The “strong Black woman” trope didn’t come out of nowhere.
It was survival. It was slavery. It was being the backbone, the nurturer, the worker, the fixer—because nobody else showed up.

We inherited strength because we had to. Because being soft wasn’t safe. Because our mothers and grandmothers weren’t allowed to break down.

But survival is not the goal anymore.

We are not meant to be everybody’s savior.

We are not meant to carry pain as proof of our power.

🔥 The Tea:
Strength kept your head above water—but baby, you weren’t meant to drown just to prove you can swim.

This Narrative Was Never Made to Honor Us

Let’s tell the truth:

The “strong Black woman” trope is not a badge of honor.
It’s a trap.
A legacy of labor. A story built by systems that never saw us as human.
It was born from the belief that we were made to endure, to hold, to carry, to fix, to sacrifice.

And at what cost?

Our softness.
Our nervous systems.
Our right to grieve.
Our right to say “I can’t.”
Our right to need.

Because let’s be clear—Black women didn’t choose to be strong.
We were forced.
We weren’t allowed to fall apart. We weren’t offered help.
So we held it down for generations.
We made magic out of scraps.
We smiled through tears.
We kept going.

But now?

Now we know better.

Because being strong was never the goal.
Being whole is.
Being held is.

Being seen as human is.

And that trope they celebrate us with?
That “strong Black woman” narrative that gets slapped on our wounds like a Band-Aid?

It’s not love. It’s not protection. It’s not admiration.

It’s dehumanization wrapped in praise.

🔥 The Tea:
If the only way they see your worth is through your pain, they never saw you to begin with. They’re not clapping for your healing, they’re clapping for your suffering.

Fuck that.

So this is me saying:

I’m not your strong friend anymore.

I’m done letting strength be the only language I’m fluent in.
I’m done performing survival just to be deemed valuable.

I’m choosing softness.
I’m choosing care.
I’m choosing to stop being a martyr and start being a person.

Because I don’t want to be another Black woman they write poems about after she’s gone.

I want to be alive, well, rested, loved, and soft—on purpose.

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The Problem with Praising Strength

When people constantly tell you how strong you are, they stop checking in.

They assume you’re okay.
They overlook your silence.
They forget you need support too.

And eventually? You forget how to ask for help. You start feeling guilty for needing rest. You perform stability while silently falling apart.

🔥 The Tea:
They don’t call the people who caused your wounds strong—they call you strong for surviving them.

That’s not a compliment.
That’s a coping mechanism.

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Let This Be the Last Time You Call Me Strong Without Offering Support

If you love me, don’t clap for how I survive.
Ask me what I need to feel safe.
If you see me carrying everything—don’t cheer.
Help me set it down.

I am no longer available for:

❌ Being the “go-to” when nobody checks on me
❌ Being the emotional mule while others rest
❌ Performing stability so nobody feels uncomfortable
❌ Shrinking my grief to hold space for other people’s convenience
❌ Being praised for the exact thing that’s breaking me
❌ Being available for your next episode of trauma dumping

You can keep your praise.
I’m protecting my peace now.

This isn’t just healing—it’s rebellion.
It’s reclamation.
It’s revolution.

🔥 The Tea:
You want a strong Black woman? Cool. But make sure she has some bomb ass health insurance, unlimited paid time off, six figures, a therapist, a support system, a softness stipend, and the damn audacity to say “no” without guilt.

Otherwise, you don’t want strength—you want a fucking workhorse. A servant.

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Choosing Softness is Choosing Freedom

I want to be soft.
I want to cry without apologizing.
I want to say “I can’t carry this” and not feel ashamed.
I want to lay down my cape and know the world won’t fall apart.

🔥 The Tea:
Softness is radical as hell when the world keeps telling you to suck it up. Choosing softness says:
I’m not killing myself for a world that never protected me.
It’s the courage to stop pretending you don’t need care.

So if you’re tired of being strong all the time? Let this be your permission slip.

You don’t have to be “on” today.
You don’t have to lead the healing circle, carry the group chat, fix the family.

You get to rest.
You get to say “not today.”
You get to just be.

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The Soft Rebellion Checklist

A call-in for every Black woman who’s ready to lay her burden down and pick up her freedom instead:

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If You’re Tired Too, Pull Up a Seat

If you’re the strong one…
If you’re the first one called, but the last one cared for…
If you’ve been applauded for your strength but never allowed your softness…

You’re not alone.

This post isn’t just for me.
It’s for us.

It’s for every Black woman who’s ever held space for everyone but herself.
For the ones who’ve mothered entire communities while barely being nurtured.
For the ones who are tired of being pillars in rooms that never asked if they had a place to lean.

Come sit with me.
Lay your armor down.
Let your softness breathe.

Because we are no longer performing for a world that only values our pain.

We are choosing softness like our lives depend on it.
Because in many ways—they do.

🔥 The Tea:
Your softness is the blueprint.
Every time you choose rest over performance, every time you say no instead of breaking… another woman watching you learns she can too. So be loud about it. Be unapologetic.
Be the one who said ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOT.

I Want Something Different Now

I want softness that holds me.
I want support that finds me before I fall.
I want rest that doesn’t feel like guilt.

I don’t want another pat on the back for surviving another hit.

I’m not dying on hills that don’t come with a nap and a therapist.

I want to live a life where I don’t have to keep getting hit.

I want to be cherished, not challenged.

I want softness over strength.

I want living over existing.

And I know I deserve it.

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💖 As Always:

Take what you need, leave what you don’t.
And if you don’t get anything else from this post, take this:
The love I have for you. For your healing. For your joy.

You are a wonderful human—just as you are.
And even in all your brilliance, softness, strength, and becoming…
You still deserve more.
So give it to yourself.

You are loved.
You are love.
You are your own best thing.
You are everything—and you can do all things.

Now gone on and stop playing in your own potential, fren.
Heal on purpose—before life forces you to.

The Glow Up is yours.

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🌱 Affirmation of the Day:

I release the need to be strong all the time. I welcome softness, support, and rest into every part of my life.

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Join the Conversation:

• When did I first start believing strength made me worthy?
• Who benefits from me staying strong?
• What would softness look like for me today?