It's Not Your Job to Heal a Black Man—Your Presence Is Enough
Transcript Notes
This is placed as a sacred recalibration, not a callout. Because Black women have been positioned as healers by inheritance and therapists by expectation, while Black men have been taught to collapse into the nearest softness—without ever being taught how to hold it back.
"It's not your job to heal a Black man. Your presence is enough."
You are not a rehab center. You are not a redemption arc. You are not the spiritual labor force for every man who never met himself.
You are a witness, a companion, a constellation of soft and sacred truths— and that alone is holy.
Black women: You've been assigned healing work that wasn't yours. Labeled "strong," but really just undernourished while still expected to pour. You were never meant to be the container and the cure.
You don't fail when he doesn't change. You don't break the village when you leave. You are not less divine because you said "I am not a nurse for this wound anymore."
Black men—this part is for us.
She is not your healer. She is your mirror.
You don't prove your growth by collapsing into her softness. You prove it by holding it—without trembling. By not confusing her calm with consent to carry your unspoken grief.
She can witness you, but she cannot complete you. And real love? Doesn't ask someone to bleed in exchange for your becoming.
What Should We Do to Help Each Other Heal?
Black women:
Reclaim rest.
Stop turning exhaustion into proof of love.
Let "no" be sacred, not selfish.
Black men:
Seek brotherhood that isn't performance-based.
Grieve out loud.
Learn to sit in her softness without turning it into a hiding place.
Together:
Create rooms where pain isn't hierarchy.
Name harm without inheritance.
Return, not to the old roles, but to new rhythms.
Her presence is enough. Your willingness is enough. And real healing begins when nobody is performing strength anymore.