From being ignored at hospitals, to being called “studs” when protecting a female co-star from an assault, to being shamed when standing up for yourself, to being told if ever lost, look for a black woman, to being called all sorts of names under the sun just for existing. Do black women ever get a break? Do black women ever get a chance to stop surviving and start finally living? Will there be a time when their opinions, character and personality will not be picked apart and torn to shreds?

In 1851, at the women's rights convention held in Akron, Ohio, Sojourner Truth, formerly called Isabella Baumfree, delivered what is now recognized as one of the most famous abolitionist and women's rights speeches in American history, "Ain't I A Woman?" This speech may have been told over 100 years ago, but we still see history repeating itself in today's world —a world where black women are treated like an afterthought. From the movies we see to the hospitals we visit, in every aspect of life, for some reason, society has decided that Black women don't matter until they're needed. They are suddenly remembered when you want to see a quick recipe, when you want creative direction, when you don't feel safe, and run to them for protection. But we do all that and somehow care less about them being vulnerable, and more about them being fierce protectors and helpers, never the protected, always the protector.

During the Wicked press tour, Cynthia Erivo stepped in to protect Ariana Grande from an overeager fan. The internet's response? They called her “a stud”. Never mind the gowns, the nails, the undeniable femininity; because she took charge, she was then labeled masculine. But if it were Jonathan Bailey or Michelle Yeoh that stepped in to protect her, would it have been different? Maybe we would have gotten edits, and thirst traps praising them, things like "Jonathan, the man you are," or "Michelle is truly a girl's girl, wow, my woman of the year," But Cynthia? She's met with memes depicting her as "a man." Why isn't she praised for doing what the bodyguards couldn't act fast enough to do? Why is her femininity erased the moment she shows strength?

This isn't new. For centuries, Black women have been forced into roles that deny their humanity and femininity. From the "Mammy" stereotype that painted them as asexual caregivers, to the "Sapphire" caricature that labeled them as angry and aggressive, these tropes were designed to justify mistreatment and strip Black women of the tenderness afforded to white women. And these stereotypes don't just live in history; they have real, deadly consequences today.

On the week of Nov. 15, 2025, at the Dallas Regional Medical Hospital, Mesquite, Texas, a video circulated the internet showing a Black mother, Karrie Jones, whose amniotic fluid had broken, clearly in pain and in the process of giving birth, sitting on a wheelchair, neglected by a nurse, who found it more fitting to complete her paperwork and get her a wrist band before transferring her to the labor and delivery unit—a process which took about 30 minutes on average. Even though she was clearly in so much pain, this black mother had to give birth on a wheelchair about 12 minutes later after being wheeled in. As of today, she and her baby are doing okay, but things could have been far worse. Why keep a woman, who is clearly in pain, waiting for that long, knowing the dangers of childbirth and delivery, even as a trained medical staff? Had it been a white woman, would this even be a topic?

This is not an isolated incident. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Black women are two to three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related complications compared to white women, yet little to no resources have been put in place to see these women through. The perception of Black women as "strong" and "unbreakable," a byproduct of these harmful stereotypes, have all contributed to the medical racism and biased treatment by some healthcare providers. Their pain is dismissed, their cries for help ignored, because society has decided they can endure anything, and when they are victims of violence or abuse, they are seen as less in need of protection, or worse, as the aggressors themselves. It's as if their suffering doesn't matter enough to warrant urgent care.

This dismissal of pain isn't just another statistic or a shocking news clip; it can happen in our own lives, to the people we love. Just two weeks ago, a friend of mine visited the hospital, as she was in so much pain, from her abdomen to her chest, and all the doctor could say was, "Oh, do this, and you should be fine." She felt neglected, but unfortunately, couldn't do much. She was later checked into the ER the next day because of the level of pain she felt. My friend survived her ordeal, but what of the millions of black women whose pain are overlooked, whose cries are neglected, what about those who don't make it? Why have we as a society accepted this as a standard for treating Black Women? Why don't we feel a need to seek out and address their pain? As Sojourner Truth said, "Ain't I A Woman?" The same applies here: isn't she a woman like her white counterparts? Or is she somehow less deserving of care, less deserving of gentleness, less deserving of life?

Even in the media, black women are held with such levels of scrutiny that strips away their humanity. Love Island contestants, Olandria and Chelley, have noted how fans dissect everything they do, how they are judged and torn to pieces for their opinions and way of life. Even months after the show ended, they are constantly being talked about — not for their good deeds, not for their wins, but for existing and all the negative things that parasocial fans thrust on them. Meanwhile, their other non-black co-stars are being praised, showered with love, and pampered even when they do "wrong deeds." The fans see it as a mistake and just being human, but for Chelley and Olandria, unfortunately, that humanity doesn't apply to them. That grace isn't given to them, that love isn't extended.

And why? Because they decided to stand up for themselves against another contestant who didn't understand the concept of taking accountability decided to cry those "Tears" and the show’s edit by the producers of Love Island just further fueled the hate these two wonderful women received by framing them as the problem. The network was quick to call out people body-shaming a contestant, "Vanna", yet offered nothing to protect Olandria and Chelley from this level of grotesque dehumanization. Where is the grace for Black women, where is the humanity we so easily extend to others but withhold from them?

It baffles me how much the world sees them as protectors, guardians, helpers and holds them to such a high standard in keeping the world safe, but their feelings are often invalidated. Even the media takes away their essence, their beauty, their grace and poise, and boxes them into this stereotypical role. Movies often depict them as "loud or angry or shelve them into slave, maid-like roles." AI videos showcase them with "grinch-like attitudes." Their dance, way of life and speech are called "ghetto." Somehow, if a white woman should do it, it's praised as "innovative" and "new." The double standard Black women face daily, their culture appropriated and celebrated only when divorced from Blackness itself.

Ain't black women, women too? Don't they have the scientific compositions, identity, and anatomical structures that qualify them as such? Or is there something written somewhere with substantial evidence that says otherwise?

The world needs to wake up; we have to see beyond this colorist lens we have somehow been accustomed to. Black women matter; their pain, struggles, and everything about them matter. They shouldn't be held in such a box or treated without respect. They shouldn't be held to such a level of scrutiny by the media and its audiences that we strip them away from their human essence. They deserve love, care, and support as much as any woman in this world. Their culture deserves praise without judgment, their vibes enjoyed and highlighted without nitpicking. They should be allowed to live in their femininity like any other woman; they deserve to be as "girly" and "soft" as they please, to be comfortable in their femininity, without having to be on guard all the time.

Use your voice to call out misogynoir against these women, tackle preconceived notions against them, show support to organizations that uplift Black women, and reject any masculinization that strips them of their humanity. We must dismantle the strong Black woman myth. So the next time you see a Black woman being called “masculine” for being assertive, or “angry” for standing up for herself, will you scroll past, or will you say something? The next time your friend dismisses a Black woman's pain as her being “dramatic,” will you let it slide? We all have a choice in whether we perpetuate this or push back against it.

Black women are strong, beautiful, resilient, compassionate, and talented; they deserve everything and more. Black women matter and always will.