For Black women like me, Serena Williams’ appearance at the Super Bowl was a powerful statement. In 2012, after winning Wimbledon, her celebratory dance was distorted and miscast as gang-affiliated. She had simply been expressing joy—something anyone who understood “the culture” would recognize. But the media saw what they wanted to see. This time, under the stadium lights, draped in US Open blue, she reclaimed the story.. Moving to Kendrick Lamar’s “Not Like Us,” she sent an unmistakable message: her joy, her culture, her identity will never be theirs to erase.
It was a rare show of strength in a country that relentlessly tries to erase and repackage the legacy of Black women—a country that consistently tells us
You are not good enough.
You are not smart enough.
You are too black.
Personally, I have experienced this for too long. I went to a top medical school and a well ranked residency. I honed my skills, became a chief resident, and completed fellowships at an Ivy league institution. I have held the title of president, president emeritus, co-chair, vice chair and director. I have helped write scientific papers, I have penned thought provoking articles and yet for other people, this is never enough.
People have always questioned, and continue to question, my credentials.
When I was accepted to a summer research program during my junior year of college, my classmate asked “did they make a mistake?”
When I received my first (of many) medical school acceptances, a professor told me her son was rejected, so it was unclear why I got in., “It was an affirmative action acceptance,” she concluded.
When I ranked Yale as my number one for residency, I left my advisor’s office crying because he thought I would not be a “good fit” and “would likely not match to it.” But I did.
When applying for the chief resident position, I was told two Black women would not be chosen: Why even try? I got it, and so did she.
Recently, after publishing a personal article about my own experience with illness, commenters focused on my Blackness and presumed I lacked credentials.
Every time I speak from my experience, knowledge or expertise, there is an assumption that I did not earn my space, that somehow I am an imposter, and will soon be found out.
With the odds clearly stacked against me, I always thought I was persevering. I thought I embodied the “strong black woman”, one who fought through the jungle of racism to come out unscathed–until I realized how scathed I was. I am a chronic self-silencer, a well known Black woman defense mechanism . Plagued by others implying I am less than, not good enough and a “DEI hire” (a made-up box), I have been made to feel as though I need to shrink small, be quiet and dim my shine to succeed.
As a Black female professional it is extra hard. Black women make up less than 3% of physicians, and only 0.8% of full professors in U.S. medical schools. Fewer than 2% of attorneys are Black women; while a miniscule 0.86% are partners. Of all of America’s scientists and Engineers, Black women comprise AGAIN less than 2%. Some might argue that black women have not earned their spots, however, this is far from the truth. Black women are enrolled in and graduating from school in the highest percentage across racial and gender lines and yet remain the least paid.
When growing up, we are told “you have to be ten times as good to get half of what they got”. It’s Black women who are expected to be superhuman, while the world remains our kryptonite.
It is time to stop lessening ourselves for the act of admission without acceptance. We need to speak up and use our voices or bodies to show we will not continue to lessen ourselves for the comfort of others who would not do the same. I too am tired of the “loud and angry” black woman trope but I am also tired of bringing myself to a space that does not truly want me, at least not all of me.
Like Serena, let’s stop waiting for permission to be ourselves fully and authentically. Do not let others doubt your place when you have worked so hard to be here. Do not remove yourself preemptively: let them try to take what you’ve earned and see what happens. Don’t let anyone claim we haven’t earned our place when we are among the most educated and hardworking people in America.
Like Serena, don’t let them treat our strength and joy, our dance, with disrespect. It’s time for us to tell our own stories and lift ourselves up in celebration.
