I remember the barren look in my mother’s eyes when I told her I was diagnosed with depression and was also taking medication to treat it. It was as if the words that had left my lips were too weighty for her to carry. Full of too much pain for her to even try to digest because it might make her sick to her stomach and upset the taste of truth.
This is my story, but it’s also the story of many black women. Women with mahogany skin are constantly having to hide their pain because they are told that it’s too much, too serious, too exaggerated. I had always been told and taught that my pain could go away if I worked a little harder, slept a little later, ate a little more, or complained a little less. Being depressed while wrapped in black skin is difficult not only for my kin, but for the society that I live in.