The Weight of It All: Being a Black Woman, a Healer, and Holding On

This morning, as I did my hair, getting ready for the day, a panic attack hit me like a wave. My heart pounded as if it would burst from my chest and land on the floor. Dread crept in as I struggled to catch my breath, deep breathing in hopes of regaining control. The agonizing sensation of the walls closing in on me. I sat down, steadied myself, and chanted my affirmations:

"All is well, all is so."

But why?

Why was a panic attack hijacking my morning, interrupting the plans I had? Then, I remembered what had been on my mind just moments before. As I ran my hands through my hair, I had been thinking about what it means to be a Black woman in this world today. Not just a Black woman, but a herbalist, an energy healer—a role that Western society has long dismissed, ridiculed, or outright vilified.

Even now, during Black History Month, the weight of systemic racism looms. The very forces that have always sought to diminish us still persist. As I sipped my Happy Tea, I let my thoughts unravel.

I thought of Harriet Tubman—not just the abolitionist, but the herbalist. The woman who led people to freedom and used the power of plants to heal those in need. I thought of Dr. Caesar, the skilled herbalist who crafted antidotes and remedies that helped both Black and white people alike. He was offered his own freedom in exchange for his knowledge, only to later be prohibited from sharing his healing wisdom with enslaved people. And then there was Emma Dupree, the herbalist who carried her tea recipes everywhere, treating the sick in her community with the gifts of the earth. She is still celebrated to this day.

As I sip the tea I created—one that helps ease panic attacks and anxiety—I think of them. They made it possible for me to stand here today, to embrace my calling as a healer. They remind me that my work is not only valuable, but necessary.

And yet, I feel the weight of today’s fight pressing down on me. The very rights our ancestors bled for are being challenged. The promise of an equal playing field is under threat. I am proud to be Black, but I am also angry—angry that simply existing as a Black person is perceived as a threat, even when all I seek to do is help others heal.

With the odds stacked against me, I feel the walls closing in again. But I hold on to my faith. I hold on to the fight of my ancestors—James Still, Harriet Tubman, Dr. Caesar, Emma Dupree, and so many more. Their resilience is in my blood.

Still, my soul cries out:

"Why does it have to be so hard?"

But I won’t give up. I won’t give in. That is what it means to be Black.

I am proud. Sometimes weary, sometimes tired, but always proud—to be a Black herbalist. A Black healer.