Why Black Women Deserve To Process Trauma Silently

By: Alicia A. Wallace

Megan Thee Stallion’s name has been in the news and conversations all year, from issues with record label 1501 to excitement around WAP. In July, everyone was shocked to hear that somebody shot Megan. There were conflicting stories and confusing circumstances, but it became clear that Tory Lanez shot Megan when she tried to exit his vehicle. When she finally broke her silence to address fans on Instagram Live, she noted the danger in admitting to police that a firearm was even in the vehicle with Black people. Megan didn’t tell the officers who shot her to protect everyone in the car. 

Black women continually take responsibility for everyone else’s well-being, often overlooking or sacrificing their own. Megan suffered for it. The world expects us to be superheroes, solving the world’s problems with no resources, compensation, or support. We are strong and resilient, not only because we have to survive but also because it is convenient for the people who don’t want to participate in the work left at our feet. “Black women will save us all” is a cop-out that needs a callout. 

After Meg’s incident became public, there was a lot of back and forth. Lanez insisted that he didn’t shoot Megan, and many of his fans believed him automatically. People questioned Megan’s decision to withhold the police’s truth, conveniently forgetting that Black people don’t have a positive relationship with law enforcement. It wasn’t a real choice.

We saw footage of Megan’s pain, yet people chose to deny it. We heard her silence and watched that space get filled with a vile narrative she soon felt compelled to address. We saw her contradiction and the pain of being forced to do it.

As we look back at this story, the lesson is to question silence. What is its function?

Zora Neale Hurston famously said, “If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.” There is fear that our pain will go unnoticed, and our conditions unchanged if we do not speak up. It’s important to state our discontent, but we have to recognize two facts.

First, our pain is already visible, and some will continue to ignore it. Second, it can be beneficial to delay breaking our silence and control the stories told about us.

As Black women, we do not often have the space to feel our pain and grief. We grieve the loss of our innocence, our sense of belonging, our privacy, and our security. It takes time to reckon with them and see how forward they are without them or the road to rebuilding them for ourselves. There is tension between our right to grieve and heal - especially in private - and the impetus to express our pain and frustration. While each of our experiences is deeply personal, we know we are not the only ones. Speaking for ourselves is speaking for others.

Black women’s pain is never individual. When we saw what Megan was going through, many Black women felt pain for themselves and our communities. We share experiences and reactions across time and space and over generations. When we recognize that our pain is collective, we have the ability—and what often feels like responsibility—to turn it into catalytic energy.

Sadness and rage can come from the pain and transform into determination, intention, and action. Black women have consistently asked ourselves, “Now what are we going to do with this? What will we do about the conditions that cause this pain?” Megan’s answer was to draw attention to violence against Black women when she knew people would be listening.

Megan’s performance on SNL this month was used to make a strong public statement. Halfway through her set of Savage, she played an excerpt from Malcolm X’s 1962 speech Who Taught You to Hate Yourself?.

“The most disrespected, unprotected, neglected person in America is the Black woman.” This line is frequently quoted and has remained as accurate over the decades as when Malcolm X first said it. The wound from the murder of Breonna Taylor, the reluctance to press charges against the police officers involved, and the case’s result are still fresh. Maybe hearing this infamous quote is salt or balm, but it is also the truth— one we all share.

Megan added, “We need to protect our Black women and love our Black women because at the end of the day, we need our Black women.” She spoke up for all Black women because we are all vulnerable to police violence and gender-based violence, domestic violence, workplace violence, and online violence. Being Black is complicated when you are also a woman. Being a woman is complicated when you are also Black. To protect us is to refuse to violate us, intervene when we are in harm, believe us when we tell our stories, and demand justice when left to the wind.

As Black women, we are our only hope. It is Black women who raise children, take care of families, support small businesses, start movements, and stand on the front lines in our neighborhoods and protests. It was a Black woman who stood on a stage to remind us not only of our conditions but that we matter and deserve to be protected.

Black women also never leave Black men behind. While women were at the center of Megan’s message in her performance, she spoke up for the Black men.

“We need to protect our Black men and stand up for our Black men because at the end of the day, we tired of seeing hashtags of our Black men.”

Megan’s SNL performance was powerful, not only because of its messaging but because of her timing and intention. It was a conscious decision, and it felt like the turning of a corner—a Black woman speaking out on her terms.

Megan deserved to have time to grieve and start to heal, which can be a function of silence. We should not have to perform our pain for it to be real and understood by others. Megan should never have had to break her silence before she was ready. Her SNL performance indicates what we can do and the impact we can have when we take our time to process pain. We begin to heal and choose our next move. We can be intentional instead of reactive.

The world expects us to save it, but that’s not our job. We’re just trying to get beyond survival mode. We are trying to achieve the silence, privacy, and healing we need so badly. To be seen, whether we are silent or not. To be protected, whether we are well-liked or not. To walk the road to freedom without carrying everyone else and to be picked up and taken a mile or two ourselves. We have witnessed enough pain for every Black woman in every Black future we can imagine. We shouldn’t have to perform it. We shouldn’t be left to fix it.

Protect us. You need us.

To support us and our writers, please visit our Patreon.