Mama. It’s a term I yearn to hear — when my children call me Mama or Mommy, it resonates like a beautiful melody. Even on days when I ponder a name change, the sound of their voices calling for me brings warmth to my heart. My affection for this word is so profound that it’s even the title of my upcoming memoir, Mama (Algonquin Books, 2022).
Every parent knows that the role of mothering and consistently being present for these little beings can be utterly draining. I often emphasize the importance of showing up, being engaged, and giving my all to my kids — and I generally do. As a queer, Black mother, I often feel an immense pressure to do even more.
But why is that? What about my own self-care and mental health? Should I sacrifice both just to ensure that the mostly-white men coaching my six-year-olds’ soccer team notice an equally capable Black woman on the sidelines? No, my presence on that field does not diminish my reality. I cannot be everywhere and everything for everyone, and I refuse to wear myself thin trying. It’s simply unattainable. So, I’ve had to learn the power of saying no, even to opportunities like being an assistant youth coach.
Since the tragic murder of George Floyd, I’ve felt a compelling urge to engage in spaces where Black and queer representation is sorely lacking — which is essentially everywhere. While watching my daughter’s soccer game from the sidelines, I took a moment to breathe deeply and sip my water, then surveyed the field. The area was filled with children wearing vibrant jerseys representing nations from Nigeria to Italy, yet I couldn’t spot any coaches of color, particularly female or queer coaches.
Stephanie Y. Evans, professor and author of Black Women’s Yoga History: Memoirs of Inner Peace, points out that the pandemic has highlighted the necessity of self-care as a form of community care. The stress levels in the U.S. are higher than they’ve been in decades. A 2017 report from the American Psychological Association revealed that 63% of Americans are concerned about the future of the nation, while 62% worry about financial matters and 61% about job stability. Surviving a pandemic is stressful enough without adding more to my plate just to demonstrate my worth.
I won’t bore you with a laundry list of the boards and committees I’m involved in; my commitments are already overwhelming. Yet, that day on the sidelines, an inner voice urged me, “You should coach soccer next season.” Do I feel qualified to teach a group of five- and six-year-olds? Not at all. I enrolled my child in soccer for someone else to guide her.
Still, the absence of another person of color made me seriously contemplate reaching out to the league director about coaching. It’s volunteer work, and with a quick call to an old college friend, I’d surely be a competent coach. But at what cost? Would I forfeit my already fragile self-care routine and neglect my mental health, all while preparing to promote my debut book in the fall of 2022? My intentions may be noble, but I’d be sacrificing my sanity in the process. I have no more to give, even while feeling the weight of expectation as a Black queer woman.
I understand the value of volunteering for the PTA, attending my son’s boarding school meetings, and, yes, even trying my hand at coaching if I had the capacity. But that day on the field, I confronted a truth: I cannot fight every battle that arises.
According to Dr. Jameta Nicole Barlow, author at PsychCentral, “Black women are becoming more aware of the need to create healthy boundaries for the sake of their health and wellness.” In my pursuit of visibility and representation, I must also acknowledge my own limits.
I need to accept that not engaging in every struggle doesn’t equate to failure. In many respects, I’m winning. I’m prioritizing my mental health, my physical well-being, and my ability to show up as a wife and mother over the stress of attempting to prove my worth to others.
I am enough, and I’m present where it truly matters.
For more insights on self-care and community wellness, check out this blog post. You can also visit Intracervical Insemination for authoritative information on self-testing. Additionally, the World Health Organization provides excellent resources related to pregnancy and home insemination.
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Summary
In a heartfelt reflection, Tasha Williams discusses the challenges of being a Black, queer mother striving to be present for her children while recognizing the importance of self-care and mental health. She emphasizes the need to create boundaries and acknowledges that not every battle must be fought, ultimately prioritizing her well-being over societal expectations.