We’ve been told we’ll be called “emotional.” Angry? They’ll wonder if we can still do our job effectively. They’ll ask if the pressure is “too much” for us. Our tears have always been seen as a weakness and never as a strength. For Black women, unearthing emotions means having to confront what those emotions mean. And that takes time that we don’t have. While we balance traditional roles—running our homes and caring for children and parents—we also pursue careers, generate income, and even earn advanced degrees. We’re in school part-time to get another degree so we can fight for that raise and promotion we know we deserve. So, taking time to think about our needs, our peace, and our emotions and what they mean is never part of the plan. It never has been in any meaningful way because there isn’t enough time in the day.

You wake up and cry in your kitchen before the kids rise for school. Later, as you shower, your tears merge with the stream of water. Hot water. Hot tears. Hot mess. You cry. You cry on the way to work with the radio turned up to drown out the sound of your pain. The bass drops, just like your heart, into the pit of your stomach. Sitting in your car in the parking lot, you suddenly find yourself pounding on the steering wheel, and you’re not even sure why. You just know that you have pent-up anger that needs to go somewhere. Anywhere. Tears in the bathroom stall during lunch or rapidly blinking during team meetings on Zoom. You know it’s best to turn off your webcam and mute your mic.

Then finally, you sink your weary body into bed at night, knowing the respite will only last a few hours until you have to do this all over again, to infinity. It seems never-ending yet slow, like a car crash you see coming but can’t stop—no time to warn or protect yourself from the impending danger ahead. There’s nothing you can do, so you sob into your pillow at night, exhausted tears of frustration. Alone in your pain because nobody wants to see a Black woman cry.

This ongoing pain and the sacrifice of our true feelings all come down to one thing: we don’t allow our emotions to be seen or heard. Our anger or tears are not acknowledged or examined, even if they’re valid. It means our souls cry out, but what they tell us never meets our consciousness, let alone the surface of our existence. Our existence becomes putting one foot in front of the other and pushing forward no matter what. There’s no time to stop and think about what that means. There is only time to do what needs to be done: take care of everyone else, pay the bills, climb the corporate ladder, get more education, lobby for promotions, and take care of business. But there is always a cost to doing business. We know that to be true. And there is much to be said about protecting our peace versus the cost of doing it. And who pays that cost? Ultimately, it’s us.

As Black women, we often embrace the idea of protecting our peace quietly and alone because it seems to be the easiest way forward. The battles of the world seem insurmountable, and often they are.

Protecting our peace means holding our tongues.

It means silence.

It means not sweating the small stuff. If we start thinking about the small stuff, it may band together with the big stuff and become an army of stuff. The stuff will become a huge snowball we know we can’t control as it gathers steam and rolls over everything we’ve worked so hard to build. And we can’t have that. That would be disastrous, right? So, it means putting our heads down and continuing to work harder, even though we know we’ve already worked hard enough. But we know that no one cares about our tears, is there to wipe them, or wants to see them.

Protecting our peace has come to mean bottling up our emotions so we don’t explode. And our emotions are always bubbling just below the surface. We’re irritated. We’re anxious. We’re scared, even though we can’t identify one thing that we’re scared of. There are just so many, and many we haven’t even named, not even to ourselves. But leaving it unnamed makes it even more scary. We don’t even ask ourselves what we’re afraid of because we fear the answer.

We do know we’re afraid of being labeled angry, irritable, and difficult, without knowing that those symptoms often indicate we are in mental distress and our emotional well-being is suffering. But we’re told that showing those emotions will harm our success. So, we learn to hold our emotions in check. We go with the flow. We swallow the lump in our throat until it feels scratchy and dry. The tears will well up anyway, only to be blinked back rapidly. We can’t let them fall. We won’t let them fall. We don’t.

Yet, in the face of this emotional struggle, we confront a distressing truth: Nobody seems to care when Black women cry. So, why bother? From a young age, we’ve learned that our tears go unnoticed. Our own communities have conditioned us to suppress our emotions. The media and the broader world around us cosigned that bill. Then, at work, we learn from our own experiences that it is imperative to suppress any valid emotions—such as anger, frustration, grief, or a sinking, nagging sense of life’s overwhelming weight—and stop crying. We’re afraid of paying the ultimate cost. Our emotions may repel that very same community that warned us of the danger long ago.

We’re not sure exactly when or where we learned that ability. The ability to repress and suppress seems to be coded into our DNA.

We understand inherently that losing control of our emotions means we may miss out on professional opportunities. We’ve been told since we could understand who we were that grabbing those opportunities is the only way to fulfill our destiny.

We already know we’re going to have to work twice as hard. We were told that as well. So why add emotion to an already arduous task? The game is rigged, and it’s already going to be harder for us.

Emotions will only take us out of our game. And we don’t have time for that if we want to win. So we go into each interaction stoically and unfeeling. Our game face is on. We don’t remove it until the game is over. And we don’t know when that will be.

To protect ourselves means avoiding friction in our relationships because, as many of us feel, it’s our job to nurture and care for everyone and everything. Dealing with our feelings about how overwhelming and burdensome that has become means we may lose control of ourselves. And we’re afraid of what that may mean. Where will we put all of these feelings of discomfort, disappointment, and sadness once we unearth them and hold them like soil in our fingers? What will grow once we examine all of that? What does that soil look like underneath all of that? Is it fertile? We suspect it’s not soft and warm, but more likely hard and dry, like clay, because that’s how we feel inside. But what will we do with that knowledge? What can grow from that? There was a rose that grew out of concrete. But can we do that? We don’t know. How can we nurture the earth beneath our feet and make it black and rich like we know it should be?

Protecting our peace has meant not asking any questions. We curtail those feelings, hide those emotions, both good and bad, and don’t allow ourselves to cry. So, we hide our tears behind the mask that smiles. We bite our lips to suppress the churning in our belly and the rapid heartbeat that warns us to run. Fight or flight! It’s a natural reaction. Our hearts race, our hands shake, and we feel confusion. And later, we will be triggered when we feel danger again. It’s a normal response to PTSD. We know that intellectually. But we’re talking about our mind and its response to our environment. And our mind is telling us to flee. But we know we must sit still and “be good.”

Protecting your peace is not something that’s “nice to have.” It’s mandatory for your survival. Your health, both physical and mental, is your wealth. Actively caring for both aspects can help you conquer life’s challenges with ease and resilience—not the promotion, the raise, the degrees, the accolades, the accomplishments, or your title. All of those are nice to have. And we all need to pay our bills. I know we don’t live in a utopian world where everything is taken care of. And even if we did, what would the role of Black women be? I can only guess. So, work and responsibilities are a part of all of our lives. However, beyond societal expectations, and amidst all the external obligations, your biggest responsibility remains to yourself. It is impossible to pour from an empty cup, and you deserve peace. You deserve rest. You deserve to take time to think about what makes you happy and to bask in that feeling every day if you need to, and whenever you need to. You deserve all of that and more, Sis. And I promise you that once you start to do that, you’ll see what you’ve been missing, and you’ll want more.

Slowing down will speed you up. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but when you give yourself the gift of time, it can make your actions more deliberate and your decisions more thoughtful. This results in overall increased productivity and peace. Taking time for yourself and appreciating yourself teaches you that you are the most important thing. Your body and mind will reward you for that, and then you can go back to conquering the world if you want. But first, think about taking care of yourself. The world won’t crumble without your steady hand. Place that hand on your chest and breathe in slowly. Fill your lungs and slowly exhale. Now do it again. Take note of how good that feels, and know that’s exactly what you need and deserve. Centering yourself in this moment means you are free to give as much or as little of yourself to others as you wish, but only when you’re whole. Remember, saying no is a right; it’s a complete sentence that requires no further explanation or justification. So if you don’t want to take care of everyone, you don’t have to. You never did. It’s an impossible task anyway, which sets you up to burn out and hurt yourself in the long run. It’s time for you to take care of yourself.

This book is for Black women seeking coping strategies to handle stress, enhance wellness, and heal from unpacked trauma through practices rooted in African tradition. Protecting My Peace gives them a glimpse into the healing practices of ancestral care. The ultimate goal is to encourage habits that foster growth and consistency and leverage evidence-based strategies. This results in measurable outcomes for increased well-being.

If you take nothing else away from this book, I want you to take one thing with you that I tell myself almost daily. You are more than worthy, and it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault if they didn’t see your worth. That’s their loss! It’s not your fault that you’re constantly working with little rest and feel chronically exhausted. There’s no shame in needing time to rest. In fact, you are courageous in every way for seeking ways to increase your emotional well-being and looking for strategies to increase your peace. Being a Black woman in a world that doesn’t feel like it was made for you is not a figment of your imagination. The world as it is has not been designed to nurture and protect you. And knowing that doesn’t make you a pessimist or negative; it makes you realistic about what is happening around you. It means that you will need to be your biggest advocate. In the same way you might put others’ needs first, it’s important to remember to take care of yourself.

In our quest for understanding, this book delves deep, exploring these questions through the lens of the African diaspora and the traditional culture that many of us crave, but that is still elusive. I knew there was so much that was unspoken—from the loving touch of my mother, or the sound of her voice that soothed my angst, to the cerasee tea she brought me when I was ill as a child. But how did I capture the love and wisdom of the foremothers I had never met, but whose love I felt through our shared cultural heritage and experiences? I wanted to explore all of the wisdom and knowledge we already have in our communities, not the pop culture, quick fixes, self-help, and toxic positivity that we see so much of in this social media era.

This book is about transforming how you treat and talk to yourself, about capturing the nurturing from our ancestral roots and the mothers we didn’t know, but who were able to overcome insurmountable odds so we could be here today. This book is a thank-you to them and an acknowledgment that their sacrifices were not in vain. This book is a way to keep their love and knowledge alive. This book is an acknowledgment of their love. And we receive it.

We are their legacy. We are them, and they are us. Their blood pulses through our veins. And they would want the best for us. Rest. Peace. Not heartache, hard work, disappointment, or struggle. We are our ancestors’ wildest dreams. They wouldn’t want us to endure a nightmare of anxiety, stress, and overwork. They would want us to thrive, not just survive. Self-care and treating ourselves with kindness are at the center of that survival, not another degree or burning ourselves out to get that next promotion, no matter what we tell ourselves to the contrary. We have to wake up and rest. Wake up to the idea that true life begins when we put our own happiness and emotional well-being first. It’s a must. It’s a need, not a want. I want peace for you. You deserve that, and so much more.

If you’re ready to embark on this transformative journey of learning to protect your peace, then let’s delve further. A part of my practice of healing, focusing on my emotional well-being, and taking time for myself on a daily basis has been incorporating journaling and affirmations to sort through my thoughts. The practice gives me the space to process my emotions in a productive way.

Journaling has transcended mere hobby status to become a cornerstone of modern wellness routines. It’s the disciplined practice of recording thoughts, emotions, and experiences, offering a plethora of benefits across the mental, emotional, and creative domains. For Black women, with their unique mental health needs and experiences, this practice resonates even deeper.

In the complexity of the human psyche, self-awareness often emerges as a guiding light. Journaling, in its reflective embrace, cultivates a heightened sense of self-understanding. By giving form to the abstract, writing crystallizes emotions and thoughts, allowing for deeper exploration and insight. In a world awash with distractions, this fosters a return to the inner self, grounding the individual in authenticity and truth.

The therapeutic properties of journaling are well documented,¹ and yet its simplicity should not diminish its significance. The act of putting pen to paper can unleash a torrent of emotion, providing a cathartic release for pent-up feelings. This emotional unburdening creates a space for healing, with the pages absorbing pain, frustration, and sorrow, transforming them into a tangible form that can be managed, understood, and ultimately transcended.

Furthermore, journaling forges a pathway to personal development, igniting the conscious pursuit of goals. This written dialogue with oneself serves as both a map and a compass, guiding one toward aspirations while holding one accountable to the chosen path. In the quiet contemplation of written words, there emerges a dialogue with the future self, a negotiation of dreams and desires that aligns purpose with action.

For Black women, the practice of journaling can extend beyond the general benefits, reaching into the heart of unique mental health needs shaped by the intersection of race and gender. The very act of writing becomes a sanctuary, a refuge where experiences of discrimination, marginalization, and societal pressure can be dissected and understood. Here, the pain of the collective becomes personal, and the personal finds voice and validation.

Black women often face unique challenges related to both race and gender. Journaling can be a safe space to process these experiences, articulate feelings, and develop coping strategies. In addition, through journaling, Black women can explore and affirm their cultural identity and heritage. This can foster a sense of empowerment and community connection. Black women may also face disparities in healthcare and wellness. Journaling about health and wellness goals, or even chronicling health symptoms, can be a practical tool for managing and advocating for personal health needs.

By providing a space to reflect on and learn from life’s challenges, journaling can contribute to building resilience. This can be particularly important for Black women, who face systemic challenges and inequalities. Journaling can be a solitary activity, but it can also be shared with support groups or therapists. This collaborative approach to journaling can help build a support network tailored to the specific needs and experiences of Black women.

Moreover, the celebration and affirmation of cultural identity find fertile ground within the pages of a journal. Black women can explore, articulate, and embrace their cultural heritage, weaving narratives that honor their roots and resonate with their individual and communal identities. This exploration becomes a dance with history, a poetic affirmation of self that echoes the wisdom of ancestors and the vitality of contemporary existence.

So, journaling is more than a wellness practice; it is a symphony of self, a dialogue with the soul that transcends the mundane and reaches into the essence of being. Its benefits, rich and diverse, find particular resonance with Black women, echoing the unique mental health needs that shape their lives. Journaling becomes a bridge between the internal and external worlds, a sacred space where the personal meets the universal and where the inked page becomes a mirror reflecting the complexities, joys, and sorrows of human existence.

Another dimension of a meaningful wellness practice grounded in emotional self-care is the inclusion of daily affirmations. Affirmations, those deliberate and positive declarations intended to foster a supportive mental environment, transcend mere words to become powerful tools within the wellness landscape. A practice imbued with intentionality and consciousness, affirmations shape thought patterns, cultivate positivity, and align the mind’s pursuits with the heart’s desires. For Black women, given their unique mental health needs shaped by the interplay of racial and gender dynamics, affirmations assume an especially profound role. They become both a shield and a song, resonating with inner strength and cultural pride.

In the pursuit of wellness, affirmations function as architects of thought, molding the mental terrain to create landscapes imbued with positivity, resilience, and self-belief. Through repeated declarations, the mind learns to replace negative, self-limiting beliefs with constructive, empowering truths. It’s akin to planting seeds in a garden of consciousness, where, with nurturing care, they grow to become blooming thoughts that enrich life’s experience.

The resonance of affirmations with mental well-being lies in their intrinsic connection with the self’s narrative. They are a conversation with the innermost self, a dialogue with aspirations, fears, and hopes. This conversation transcends the superficial to delve into self-identity, fostering a relationship with the self that’s rooted in acceptance, compassion, and understanding. In the reflection of these positive words, the individual finds not just solace, but empowerment.

Affirmations are also gateways to mindfulness, anchoring the individual in the present moment. They act as reminders of the present’s intrinsic value, drawing attention away from past regrets and future anxieties to the here and now. In this sacred moment, affirmations become a meditative practice, harmonizing mind and body in a symphony of present awareness.

The practice of affirmations finds a particularly poignant voice among Black women, given the multifaceted challenges they often face. Society’s stereotyping, discrimination, and gender bias create a unique mental battleground that demands resilience, strength, and self-assurance. Affirmations become a nurturing voice in this environment, echoing with affirmations of beauty, wisdom, and strength that resonate with the richness of Black culture and identity.

These affirmations, carefully chosen and lovingly repeated, act as balm for the scars left by societal injustices. They remind Black women of their inherent worth, their unbreakable connection with a vibrant cultural heritage, and their right to happiness and fulfillment. In a world that may sometimes overlook or undervalue their unique experiences, affirmations become a self-affirming declaration of existence, worth, and empowerment.

The communal aspect of affirmations, shared among Black women in support groups or circles of friends, weaves a fabric of collective strength and understanding. These shared words resonate with common experiences, joys, and struggles, creating bonds that transcend individuality and embrace community.

Affirmations as a wellness practice are not mere utterances, but a rich tapestry of intentional positivity, self-awareness, empowerment, and healing. For Black women, they are a poetic dance with the self, resonating with the unique mental health needs sculpted by their individual and collective experiences. In the echo of these powerful words, there’s a melody of resilience, a song of self-love, and a chant that speaks of a timeless connection with a vibrant and unbreakable cultural legacy.

journaling questions

1.How would you personally define peace, self-care, and emotional well-being in your life? How do these definitions align with or differ from societal or community perspectives?

2.What strategies or methods are you currently employing to take care of your mental health? How effective have these been in promoting your overall well-being?

3.Have you engaged with traditional mental healthcare practices? If so, what has your experience been like? What differences or similarities have you found between these methods and your personal or community-based approaches to mental health?

4.Are there any ancestral or cultural methods of emotional well-being that you practice or feel connected to? How do these methods contribute to your understanding and practice of peace and self-care?

5.Have you ever utilized journaling or affirmations as a form of self-care? How have these practices impacted your emotional well-being?

6.What challenges or barriers have you faced in your journey toward achieving peace and emotional well-being? How have you addressed or overcome these challenges?

7.How do your family, friends, and community support or influence your practices of self-care and mental health? What role do these relationships play in your overall emotional well-being?