There are too many times where Black women aren’t given the proper respect that they deserve. From personal experience, the constant belittling and undermining of my intelligence and hard work often gets frustrating. Battling these daily challenges requires a lot of motivation. 

To be a woman in STEM (science, technology, engineering, and math) fields is challenging enough, but the challenges one endures as a Black woman is exceedingly more than one can imagine.

Did you know that in 2010, women accounted for only 28% of workers in STEM-qualified industries? Steadily, these numbers are on the rise, but men still overwhelmingly dominate STEM workforces. 

Women working in computer, science, and engineering fields are also paid an average of 81% of what men get paid for the same jobs. Most of the few women who are a part of the STEM industry aren’t women of color, either.

A report revealed that in 2017, Black women accounted for only 5 percent of managerial jobs in STEM. The lack of Black women in STEM-related jobs can cause many individuals to look down on our performances in leadership positions– or even as students in the classroom. Because people look at our race and assume we’re not smart enough, we’re discriminated against and underrepresented in these job fields. 

Coming from experience, this is very accurate. I’m currently enrolled in AP physics, a class that’s quite challenging to say the least, and I have had my intelligence undermined countless times. When my teacher asks questions, I often get stares from classmates when I raise my hand to answer questions about what we’re learning in class, as if they are surprised I know the correct answer.

It doesn’t look like the STEM industry as a whole has done much to combat this problem that many Black women face. Research shows that there hasn’t been much of an increase in minority women joining these workforces, despite more women earning degrees in these fields. 

This is likely the case because Black women often feel that the constant belittling in work, schools, etc. is just too much to handle. The underlying reasons why diversity and inclusivity have not progressively gotten better over time is because of the constant reminder that we’re not “good enough”, which is far from the truth. 

As two UNC Chapel Hill researchers stated in 2012, “Race and gender that deviate from the norm should be valued for possessing a two-dimensional perspective and unique life experiences that further STEM exploration. Instead, those possessing the existence of both features are often underestimated.”

The fact that Black women often cite feelings of isolation, mistreatment by colleagues and management, and lack of opportunities as the reasons they leave the STEM fields reaffirms the pervasiveness of racism in the workforce.

But maybe it’s time we take a different approach to this problem as a whole. When are we going to say enough is enough? When is the STEM industry going to stand up for our young Black women aspiring to be astronauts, engineers, or nurses? Certainly not now, or maybe not ever. So what do we do? It’s left to us to make that decision.

Meaning, the hard truth is that nobody will be as down for us as us. I know that may sound like a tongue twister, but it’s quite simple really. The phrase simply means that we hold the key to success because our perseverance is what keeps us going. 

We may often feel discouraged when we hear belittling remarks about ourselves & our intelligence, but that’s the more reason to keep going. To end the stigmas, to keep pushing when things get tough, and ultimately never let go of the desire to accomplish our dreams. The more we work hard and emphasize that Black women can thrive in STEM, the more leaders future generations of Black girls will have to look up to.

Dear woman in STEM, keep working hard to achieve your goals. We’re intelligent, diligent, and dedicated, regardless of what society may say. 

Featured photo: Mae C. Jemison, the first Black woman to travel to outer space. Photo from Refinery29.

The success of Black women exists as an entity beyond our personal achievements. The pressure of opening new doors for all women who look like you creates an unhealthy resistance to failure. Black women are often the first, or one of a few, learning to navigate spaces that were not systematically designed for their advancement. This role as a precedent in spaces that makes one the universal representation for all other Black women doesn’t leave space for failure. If you mess it up, you close a door that might never be nudged open again.  

Within school environments and professional spaces, Black women have to debunk stereotypes that are placed on them from the jump. There is so much hesitation about how to present oneself without seeming too loud, too  “ghetto,” or too angry. Belonging in a space should give you the license to exist in your truth. Yet, these spaces don’t allow for Black women to be their authentic selves, because of our fears of stereotypes that demean our abilities and existence. Once again, being one of the only Black women in a space makes it feel like all eyes are on you to represent that whole group.

It seems as though the pressures of success are heightened because the world is expecting our failure. NYT bestselling author Luvvie Ajayi writes, “our failures are considered the rule and our success is considered the exception.” Failure becomes the ultimate worst outcome in any situation because it feels like it is all that happens. We cannot afford to fail because we are rarely given the chance to succeed. The problem is, you are not often given another chance at success if you fail. If your win as a Black woman is a win for all Black women, then what does that make your loss? Failure would be letting down the community of women who support you, made you, and now depend on you.

This notion of opening doors and continual success propels to the conversation of legacy. In the world, one of the greatest markers of success is looking at what transcends you, what you can leave behind. For Black women, you are tasked to leave behind a legacy of success amongst trauma, suppression and blockage.

From the youngest age, Black girls often feel the pressure of fighting. It is a different world you are born into. When you constantly feel like the whole world is against you, so much needs to be done so the next generation doesn’t. The urgent need for change spurs up guilt in resting. You can feel like you aren’t doing your part, or like you get a luxury others can’t partake in. Rest can often feel like failure when time is so unreliable.

Now, I haven’t defined your terms of success. Truthfully, I have no way of knowing what that is. Success looks different on every Black woman, and it wouldn’t make sense to limit yours with mine. I think society’s measure of success comes in monetary value. Money is critical to survive under capitalism, and generating wealth leaves future generations with a stable foundation. As I was writing, I was thinking a lot about success as occupying well-accomplished institutions where so few look like you.

But success can look like happiness- fostering a healthy environment so other Black girls have an example to follow. If that is the case for you, you might feel like being upset is a failure. That being upset is an ungrateful act that traps you into another stereotype. I suppose in some ways being upset or angry would be a “rest” period for you. However, you have been conditioned to despise a natural human feeling. 

Failure, though necessary for growth, is a privilege Black women don’t feel comfortable enough to indulge in. Under the pressures of success, the consequences of our failure does not just fall on us. When given the opportunity to open new doors for Black women, it leaves the possibility of sealing those very doors. This is an unimaginable burden to carry with your every action. 

We need to start allowing space for failure by realizing how messed up the world is for having us in this predicament. It should not be the case that everyone else is warranted to make a mistake in the world but Black women. We are not otherworldly, we are not supernatural beings. At the end of the day, being human entails making enough mistakes- even if not for us to be able to learn, at least for the next. 

Sources/Further Reading

https://www.forbes.com/sites/rhoneshabyng/2017/08/31/failure-is-not-an-option-the-pressure-black-women-feel-to-succeed/#6ce9f4593fad

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Image credits: Art by @periclesarts on Instagram

Afros surged in the 60s and 70s during the Civil Rights Movement as a means to fully embrace Black beauty and power without European standards. As a consequence etched from slavery, afros have been derogatorily labeled as “nappy” and “untamed” for centuries. I’ve heard those very same words for most of my life. 

Black is Beautiful, a cultural movement that came from the Black Power movement, encouraged a new embracing of Black identity. Political activists like Angela Davis wore this style “as a symbol for Black beauty, liberation, and pride.” In other contexts, where the afro was not as militant, the style was featured on television by artists like Diana Ross, Jackson 5 or shows like Soul Train. Either way, there was both a metaphorical and literal reclamation of Black roots. A root that juxtaposes both the delicacy and power of Blackness.

By the mid-1970s, there was a decline in the appeal of afros. Braided styles like cornrows and box braids, finger waves, and Jheri curls were some of the new styles that took its shine away. It wasn’t until the late 90s when the Natural Hair Movement we now know as our own started again. A lot of Black women stopped relaxing their hair and started to learn more about the maintenance of natural coils. Though I would not affiliate this movement as direct of a political statement as in the 60s, wearing an afro in the modern day is still very much a form of resistance.

Of my siblings, I was the only one with a perm. With my hair being much thicker, coily hair and resistance of combs, it seemed as though my mom had limited options. It wasn’t until the 8th grade, the summer of 2017, that I did the big chop and completely shaved my hair for a fresh start. Truthfully, the story was not that simple, as it took my mom about a year of nagging and convincing until she got tired of being bugged. She feared I would look “like a boy,” and was projecting a lot of her own attachments to the notion that beauty was based on hair. I think especially in the African community, where European beauty standards of straight hair and light skin prevail, many are judgemental towards afros. In Black American culture, I like to think that there is a bit more progression within families that a lot of Africans have not quite reached yet.

The first couple of months without hair, I was pretty self-conscious. I would always try to wear a headband and cover my head. I was actually very encouraged by my mom by the time I was bald, but I couldn’t help feeling so naked without hair. A lot of the insecurity was based in vulnerability. It was then that I realized I too based a lot of my beauty and identity on my hair. I was also attached, so I made efforts to remove accessories. I also tried not doing my edges ever so often (which is a real challenge y’all!)

At the same time, I also had so much fun experimenting with my hair at different lengths. I was wearing it out in a stretch fro some days, others were styled from twist-outs or braid-outs. I was learning a lot about my hair, and it became one of the most relaxing forms of self-care for me. I discovered a lot of Black natural hair YouTubers in the process as well, some of my favorites including Naakie Nartey, Mona B, and Chev B.

I took control of my hair and even inspired my mom to cut hers down and try again. Cornrowing her hair and teaching her how to moisturize her curls properly have been some of our best bonding moments. 

On my journey, I was most surprised to learn that 4C hair is actually one of the most fragile and delicate hair textures. My hair that I was raised to think was rough and unmanageable, just required extra attention and love all along.

This is all to say, there is a long history of reclaiming your afros and reconnecting with your authentic beauty. But, I also want to note that there is no reason to bash women with relaxers. A lot of Black women have intricate histories with their hair. It is never too late to start loving your afro the way it deserves, but don’t let that stop you from experimenting with going bald or trying a new hairstyle. I am forever learning to dismantle beliefs about hair that were instilled in me from childhood. I always need to reassure myself that my hair is one of the best parts of me, but that it is not all I am. Like with everything in life, there needs to be balance.

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Sources: featured illustration is by Melissa Koby, @mkoby_ on Instagram