“Black Lives Matter!”
There’s no way you haven’t heard the phrase, especially since, after the death of George Floyd, there were protests on all 7 of the Earth’s continents (yes, even Antarctica). While people have all different types of opinions about the movement, I find myself more interested in the psychology of the phrase itself. As I thought about the phrase and the fate of the Black people that it represents from a mental health standpoint, a question emerged in my mind: How do people who have been made to feel that they must defend the value of their lives to others truly feel about themselves? I would expect that living under these circumstances would have some kind of impact on self-esteem. Wouldn’t you?
I turned to the world of research and found something that was very counterintuitive for me. Black people consistently report the highest levels of self-esteem in multiracial studies on this topic. Trying to reconcile what I expected with what I discovered, I remembered my dad telling me, “When I was little, it used to be an insult to call somebody Black. But then, James Brown told us, ‘I’m Black and I’m proud’ and we became okay with it.” Cautiously optimistic, I began to think that maybe Black History Month and other representation campaigns have accomplished their intended result! Maybe Black pride is on the rise! Other researchers pointed to factors like finding strength and support in communities of faith and musical expression as playing a role in bolstering self-esteem.
But despite what the studies were showing me, I couldn’t shake this feeling of distrust with the numbers. I mean, are we really going to act like 180 years is enough time for a people’s collective identity to go from “I am property, used and abused by white men as they see fit” to “I feel better about myself than anyone else”? It’s only been 53 years since Dr. King was killed for his role in the struggle for racial equality, and we’re still reminding others (and maybe ourselves) that “Black Lives Matter.” I couldn’t make sense of it.
That’s when I came across a study done by Zeigler-Hill, Wallace and Myers in 2012 that revisited the “Black self-esteem advantage.” They had 95 undergraduate students complete a measure of their self-esteem, and then had them come back later to complete the same measure. The difference was that some of them were hooked up to a fake lie detector (referred to as a “bogus pipeline” procedure) while others were not. In the words of the researchers, “Black participants with high levels of self-esteem were found to report more modest feelings of self-worth in the bogus pipeline condition than in the control condition. The results of the study suggest that impression management may be an important consideration when examining the feelings of self-worth reported by members of stigmatized groups.”
Think about that. These Black students who originally spoke highly about their self-esteem gave lower answers when they thought the researcher would know whether or not they were answering truthfully. Why would they feel the need to report higher-than-actual self-esteem to a perfect stranger? I can’t answer for these students, but in my experience with my culture, a Black person’s image and the impression it leaves on others is fiercely protected. Sometimes, Black people feel like their image is all they have! Listen to a hip hop station for an hour and count how many times you hear a rapper compliment himself – his money, his cars, his sexual escapades, etc. Look at how flashy the music videos are and all the jewelry the artists are wearing. Why do so many black artists feel a need to show or tell the world how awesome they are? And why does that idea sell so much?
I remember a chart-topping rap song entitled “This Is Why I’m Hot.” The beat was pretty average and its lyrical content was on par with a nursery rhyme (listen to Hickory Dickory Dock and then play “This Is Why I’m Hot” – you’ll see what I mean). The artist literally said “I can make a mill saying nothing on the track”! But a lot of Black folks loved the song! I can’t speak for all, but I think one of the reasons why some people loved it is because it resonated with their own desire or even need for impression management.
I’ve seen a lot of Black people who live in dilapidated homes with fancy cars riding on plus-sized chrome wheels parked outside. When these people go out into the community, they appear as though they have reached some level of status or financial security based on what the average person sees. They are managing the impressions that others have of them. Critical thinking will reveal this pattern of displaying virtual strength and wholeness in a variety of ways throughout the African American community.
Of concern to me is my belief that this phenomenon absolutely plays itself out in terms of mental health. Research and my lived experiences show that a strong cultural value of African Americans is to not show any signs of weakness or vulnerability. Last February, I saw a meme that showed an illustration of what it might have looked like on a Transatlantic slave trade ship. The exact words of the caption escape me, but a loose paraphrase would be, “Our ancestors did not survive slavery, Jim Crow segregation, being attacked by police dogs, sprayed with fire hoses, etc. only to have you give up because you’re having a bad day.” The punchline was “It’s not in our DNA to quit!”
Obviously, the post was intended to celebrate the resilience demonstrated in the African American heritage and instill a sense of pride and strength, but I’m concerned about how messages like this reinforce a belief that we should be (or at least appear to others that we are) strong enough to handle whatever we’re up against on our own by virtue of our own internal strength of will. That is simply not true.
Mental health is not a matter of willpower any more than overcoming a cold is. There are any number of social, genetic and biological factors that can converge on and wreak havoc against a person’s psychological well-being. Whether it’s self-esteem, depression, anxiety, or just feeling stuck in life, there is no shame in asking for and seeking mental health support any more than there is in going to the hospital to treat a broken arm.
Without question, the African American community has shown incredible strength and resilience to accomplish what members of our community have accomplished in the face of overwhelming odds and opposition. Without question, the men and women of color who fought for equality and achieved excellence in their various spheres of society deserve to be honored and celebrated as their lives teach us about perseverance and character. But their progress was not the result of superhuman lone rangers who were single-handedly strong enough to carry the world on their back like the Titan Atlas. No, they were collaborative efforts of individuals working together and supporting one another.
So don’t let your Black Pride keep you from reaching out and receiving the support that you may be in need of. You are not doing a disservice to your heritage or misrepresenting your people to admit that you’re having a hard time with something and need some assistance. It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to admit to yourself and to others that you’re facing something that you’re finding it difficult to cope with. There’s healing and strength in letting your guard down, accepting where you are, and being vulnerable. Denying or hiding your struggles does not produce the virtue of pride; it produces conceit. Pride comes when you honestly face all of you – the good, the bad, and the “Help wanted” – and accept yourself for where you are with compassion.
The Health and Human Services Office of Minority Health reported that Black adults are more likely than white adults to report that all or most of the time, they feel sadness, hopelessness, or that everything is an effort, yet only one in three Black adults who need mental health receive it. While there are many barriers standing between Black people and quality mental health, I’m urging you to help me remove the stumbling block of “Black conceit” (i.e., the impression management that causes people to hold themselves back from a path to healing).
Let’s be honest – America has given us enough history and images in the news to affect our view of ourselves and disturb our mental health. It’s okay to own that and/or any other mental health concerns you may be experiencing. But it starts with letting go of our tendency towards impression management and embracing ourselves in vulnerability and compassion. That’s the only way we really can “Say it loud” (and honestly):
I’m Black and I’m proud!
Questions to journal about and #takethewheel:
- How did your family deal with situations that were emotionally challenging when you were growing up? Do you still subscribe to those “rules” now?
- What types of things have you done, or do you do to protect your image?
- Who are the people in your life who you can be completely real with, no matter what you’re feeling or facing?
