Your Hate Is Making Me Sick
The Legacy of Racism and It’s Continued Erosion of Black Mental Health
By Janice Hayes Kyser
“I don’t want to walk through life thinking every other person I meet hates me simply because I am black,” a close friend recently confided.
Her words reverberated in my head and penetrated my soul. Here was someone who had risen to the top of her industry and lived and thrived in mostly white environments her entire life, sharing this profound burden. It is a burden she carries with grace and dignity. She is not alone. Like most of us she has resigned herself to it, tucked it somewhere deep in her psyche and kept it moving.
Although most Black people do a great job of going on about our business, there is no denying that the wounds of racism are deep and pervasive and that they take an enormous toll on us both mentally and physically.
According to the Health and Human Services office of Minority Health, Black adults in the U.S. are more likely than white adults to report persistent symptoms of emotional distress, such as sadness, hopelessness and feeling like everything is an effort.
“The daily dismissals and denigration are a heavy load to bare, but when you add the horrific murders and lack of appropriate response, when you watch a mob of domestic terrorists storm the Capitol and most of them walk away, yet a group of mostly peaceful people protesting the killings of innocent, unarmed men and women is tear gassed and the only difference is the color of their skin, it is depressing, it is heartbreaking and it is infuriating,” says Leah Chapman, a Michigan-based Black licensed family therapist who specializes in trauma.
We have been called resilient, unbreakable, the people with the indomitable spirit, but many of us are tired, exhausted and hurt.
“The scars are raw for some and scabbed over for others, but whether you are educated, live in an exclusive zip code or are working in a “so-called” essential job and living pay to pay check, being Black in America is a “gift” that keeps on giving,” says Chapman, a two time graduate of the University of Michigan.
“The entire nation has PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) from the past four years of chaos, hate and confusion, but we as black people have a different kind of PTSD, (Post Traumatic Slave Disorder) based on 400 plus years of trauma,” says Chapman, who counsels adults in the Michigan Mental Health system as well as her own private practice. “For us, it just keeps piling on.”
The weight of all that trauma, Chapman says, can be seen in the higher morbidity rate in the Black community due to Covid-19. The stress levels that raise Cortisol, the primary hormone that increases sugars in the bloodstream and alters immune system responses, makes Black people more vulnerable to diabetes, heart disease and other comorbidities that make it harder for us to fight off the virus.
“We are fighting on so many fronts,” says Chapman. “We are always in battle mode, and there is no doubt that takes a serious toll on us.”
Chapman says the “fight, flight or freeze” state Blacks find ourselves in from being constantly under attack puts us at higher risk of depression, heart disease, anxiety and weight gain among a host of other maladies. In addition, the stress of unresolved trauma often leads to other forms of destruction such as alcohol and substance abuse and domestic violence.
In spite of the heavy load, we must find a way, as we always have, to move forward. We must take those steps knowing that many Americans believe racism is a myth, while the real hoax is the “system” was never designed for us to thrive, yet we keep on trying to find a way to work with it.
Keith Jones, a licensed clinical therapist in Maryland, who works primarily with young black men, says Black people have a PhD in “stay strong and carry on.”
“Trauma over centuries has taught us to accept pain as a part of our being,” said Jones. “We are denigrated, humiliated on a daily basis,” yet we keep on keeping on. We lose loved ones, we lose jobs, we lose our dignity and we throw a Band-Aid on it and keep it moving, but it is not without a cost.”
So what do we do with our anger, sadness and depression? How do we process our own grief and the collective grief of our people?
Talking to people who we are comfortable expressing our anger, disappointment and sadness with is one way we can cope.
Jones says those deeply intimate and intense conversations are often among friends or with pastors, rather than with therapists, due to the stigma of mental health care, the high cost of therapy, and the abuse and neglect Blacks have experienced at the hands of the medical community.
“We don’t know who we can trust,” says Jones. “We don’t see mental health professionals who look like us and who understand our journey. There aren’t many Black men who do what I do.”
The numbers bear this out. According to the American Psychological Association, 5.3 percent of the country’s psychological workforce, psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists, social workers and counselors is Black although Blacks represent approximately 13.4 percent of the population based on 2019 U.S. Census data.
Many Black people are not comfortable opening up to someone who is culturally unaware, biased and ill-equipped to understand our truth, continues Jones. “ It is hard enough for us to open up to each other. Many of us were taught to keep our business to ourselves and not to put it in the streets. So we are hesitant to share our pain.”
Negative attitudes and beliefs toward people who live with mental health conditions are prevalent and can be particularly strong in the Black community, according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI). , 63 percent of Black people believe that a mental health condition is a sign of personal weakness. As a result of that stigma, Blacks may experience shame about having a mental illness and worry they may be discriminated against even more if their condition becomes known.
Jones says Black professional athletes like the Dallas Cowboys’ Dak Prescott and the Clippers’, Paul George, as well as celebrities such as Taraji P. Henson opening up about their mental health struggles helps to remove some of the stigma, but the fear and mistrust is real.
In an effort to create safe spaces for Black men to come together and discuss their mental health, Chapman launched a series of virtual forums following the murder of George Floyd last May.
“I knew our brothers needed a judgement free zone where they could openly share their anger, pain and fear,” said Chapman. “I was blown away at the depth of emotion these brothers shared. “They come from different backgrounds and experiences, but their shared pain of being Black in America is a powerful connection.”
The very first session entitled, “When Will The Tears and The Bullets Stop,” left several participants, many of them teammates in a nationwide league of Christian basketball players, in tears. In spite of Black men being taught to avoid their feelings, Chapman says the group has provided a safe and brave space for participants to feel, connect and begin to heal.
“In every session there has been more than one participant who shared a recent loss of a loved one. These brothers have cried together, encouraged one another and shown their willingness to be vulnerable. For these athletes who have each other’s back on the court, it is a new way of connecting.” says Chapman.
Black women, says Chapman, are more likely to have a circle of friends they confide in and are generally more open to therapy, but the stresses of working, parenting, being judged by a white beauty standard and maintaining romantic relationships against the backdrop of racism is certainly no walk in the park.
As a Black man and a therapist Jones says he is always juggling his client’s trauma along with his own. In addition to connecting and sharing, Jones says he has found taking a vacation from both traditional and social media has helped him maintain his mental health.
“We thought that once we had the abuses on tape for everyone to see that things would change and that we would feel better,” says Jones. “But in reality, not much has changed and it has made us feel worse. Constantly seeing the images of hate and abuse can contribute to a secondary trauma. It is not a matter of detaching. There is no question for Black people that the images we see; those graphic depictions of hate, could very well be us or someone we love. It’s not an if, but a when.”
Steve Stuckey, a therapist who works with Black youth in Detroit, agrees. In addition to turning off the news, he encourages his clients to find a passion, purpose or activity that helps them balance their emotions. “It is about finding a positive way to release the anger, pain and disappointment. For some that may mean, running, walking, writing, volunteering, or whatever releases pain and replaces it with joy.”
Reconnecting with joy is the path to emotional healing in the midst of a troubling and racially dangerous time in American history, according to S. Renee Mitchell, a Portland-based educator, author and activist.
As an antidote to pain, Mitchell created Spreading The Black Joy Virus, a campaign that offers “indignant resistance” to the world denying our humanity, by reconnecting Black people with our ancestral heritage and resilience, sense of community and emotional healing through laughter, joy and reminders of our individual and collective culture and creativity.
“Black joy is a defiant act of reclaiming our humanity for ourselves, among ourselves and without apology,” says Mitchell. “I live in Portland, Oregon where Blacks are 3 percent of the population. So, I started to create change where I am rooted. My hope is that this will blossom into a national campaign.”
One component of Spreading The Black Joy Virus campaign is a video showcasing the Black Nod, a simple, yet symbolic tip of the head that reminds us that we are seen, appreciated and valued in a society that often overlooks us and in an era that makes us feel so distant from each other.
Stuckey says in addition to acknowledging each other, now is a good time to pay attention to ourselves.
“God has given us this universal time out with this pandemic. The question is how do we use it to learn to love ourselves, to care for ourselves, to be better versions of ourselves.”
To locate a Black therapist in Michigan or set up a telehealth appointment nationwide contact:
Leah D. Mills-Chapman, LMSW
CEO | Trainer | Consultant | Speaker | Therapist
Ntervene, LLC
Ntervene.com
734–480–8065
For Additional Mental Health Resources Contact:
borislhensonfoundation.org/, Psychologytoday.com, or The Black Mental Health Alliance at info@blackmentalhealth.com or via phone at 410. 338.2642.
National Alliance On Mental Illness, NAMI, is an educational resource regarding the signs and symptoms of mental illness. The NAMI HelpLine can be reached Monday through Friday, 10 am–6 pm, ET. 1–800–950-NAMI (6264) or info@nami.org
For More Information about the Spreading Black Joy Campaign visit https://SpreadingBlackJoy.com
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