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The Weight We Carry: Black Women, Nursing, and the Fight Against Racial

Discrimination

Celebrating the resilience of Black women in healthcare who, despite systemic challenges,

continue to carry the burden of care with unwavering strength and hope.

The Burden Before the Badge:

Before a Black woman becomes a nurse, she is already a fighter. She is born into a society that

often sees her as less, less capable, less worthy, less deserving of compassion. From a young

age, she learns to shrink herself in classrooms that mislabel her confidence as aggression, to

navigate workplaces where her ideas are credited to others, and to survive in a world that calls

her “strong” so often it forgets she is also human, deserving of softness, grace, and care.

Black women have historically been unseen, unheard, and undervalued, both in society at large

and within the very healthcare systems they now serve. This emotional labor begins long before

the first patient, the first IV, the first 12-hour shift. It is born from generations of survival: from

slavery, to segregation, to the civil rights movement, to present-day inequities. This history

shapes every step into the profession.

And then comes nursing.

The Promise and the Pain of the Nursing Profession

For many Black women, nursing is a calling, a chance to care, to heal, to uplift their

communities. But stepping into healthcare does not offer a break from the burden. In many ways,

it deepens it.

The “Strong Black Woman” Stereotype: You’re expected to handle every patient, every crisis,

every microaggression without showing emotion. If you advocate for yourself, you’re labeled

angry or difficult. So you smile. You suppress. You carry it.

Emotional Exhaustion: Constantly being undervalued, overlooked, or underestimated wears on

your spirit. Add to that the pressure of working twice as hard to be seen as half as good, and it’s

no wonder so many Black women in nursing experience burnout, not just physical, but mental,

emotional, spiritual.Cultural Isolation: Often the only Black face in the room, you’re expected to educate your peers,

mentor other Black nurses, and represent your entire race, all while managing your own

workload and trauma. The weight is real.

Racism from Patients and Colleagues: Being called slurs, having patients refuse your care, or

being mistaken for support staff despite your credentials, and given the “difficult patients” is not rare, it’s routine for many. And it

hurts every single time.

The Fragile Emotional State No One Talks About

Behind every composed Black nurse is a woman who is likely carrying hidden wounds.

She may be grieving the daily injustices that stack up unnoticed by her peers. She may be

suppressing her truth to maintain professionalism. She may be battling imposter syndrome fed by

systemic bias. She may be longing to be heard, not just as a nurse, but as a whole, full,

multifaceted person.

This emotional fragility isn’t weakness, it’s the result of unacknowledged labor. It’s the toll of

being both caregiver and survivor in a system not built to support her.

So Where Do We Go From Here?

This re-traumatization is compounded by the expectation that Black nurses remain “professional”

in the face of discrimination. They are often forced to suppress their emotional responses to

racism to avoid being labeled as “angry” or “difficult.” As a result, many carry a dual burden: the

physical and emotional labor of patient care, and the psychological labor of navigating a system

that invalidates their pain.

What makes this trauma uniquely harmful is its chronic nature. Unlike a single traumatic event,

this is a continuous exposure to environments that replicate old wounds. It stems not only from

interpersonal racism, but from institutional policies and norms that fail to protect or affirm Black

nurses. Over time, this can lead to burnout, anxiety, depression, and even a decision to leave the

profession altogether, not because of a lack of passion or skill, but because of unrelenting

emotional harm.

To address this, the nursing profession must go beyond surface-level diversity efforts. It must

center the voices of Black nurses, acknowledge the trauma embedded in its own systems, and

commit to transforming those structures. Only then can nursing truly live up to its ethical

commitment to care, not just for patients, but for all those who serve within it.

Healing starts with truth-telling. And here is the truth: The system is broken, but you are not.Black women in nursing must be seen not only as skilled professionals, but as human beings

carrying generations of pain and power. The profession must be restructured with:

Institutional Accountability: Policies to address discrimination must go beyond lip service.

Institutions must track racial disparities in promotions, pay, discipline, and leadership

representation, and act on them.

Emotional Wellness Support: Black nurses need access to culturally competent mental health

care, paid time for healing, and spaces where they can speak freely without fear of retaliation.

Safe Communities: Peer groups, mentoring programs, and affinity spaces are not extras, they

are essentials for survival in hostile systems.

Leadership Representation: Black women must be empowered to lead, shape policy, and

transform the culture of nursing from the inside out.

A Final Word to Black Women Nurses

You are not too sensitive. You are not imagining things. You are not overreacting.

You are navigating a profession that too often mirrors the very systems of oppression you’ve

been resisting your entire life. And yet, you still show up. You still give. You still lead.

That is strength. That is grace. That is legacy.

But hear this: You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to feel. You are allowed to ask for more

than survival.

Nursing should not be another battlefield for Black women. It should be a place of purpose,

power, and peace. Let’s fight together to make it that.

Love, Fantasia