Why I Started Black Girl in Healthcare

So, I have been sitting on this for a few weeks and trying to do my best to procrastinate, but then there is the always reliable occurrence of trauma of Black people. It always shocks me into writing- a hell of a motivator.

Over the same past 6 months, I have also witnessed that there is an epidemic of Black women who are leaving healthcare because they are sick of the continuing need to also navigate the need to be perfect, enduring bias from colleagues and having their voice dismissed when trying to improve health settings for Black populations.

As a Black woman, I decided to become a doctor (blissfully unaware of the harrowing road ahead) and decided on pediatrics. It was a space that allowed me to have access to moms in one of the most intimate ways- getting to know their worries and fears, their doubts. However, early in my career- before kids- I shared what I had read in my textbooks, which I realize now did not speak to the many Black women that I was providing health education for.

When I became a mother in 2012, it was a realization that I was experiencing the same doubts as my patients, the same fears when I had to trust that the physician who didn't look like me was not biased. Yet I couldn't share that bond with the moms of the patients I cared for, that's not what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to maintain distance and not steer from the tried and true parenting recommendations (that were specifically created for the general population- aka- White moms). A few years later in 2014, with the birth of my 2nd daughter, I was so overwhelmed and experienced post-partum depression, I knew something had to change but change is scary.

For many years, I struggled in silence, trying to navigate the workload, be a supermom, and dispel the myth that because I was working in healthcare, I couldn't fully be there for my 2 daughters.

I did this even at the sacrifice of my body, my mental health and my own personal desires. If there is one thing we learned in medical school, it's that we aren't allowed to show our pain, fear, worry or challenges. Vulnerability is weakness.

We are trained to be there for the people around you, your patients, not yourself- and we are told that a lack of vulnerability makes us a better doctor. It becomes a recipe for disaster, when we apply that mantra to our whole life, including motherhood.

And for me as a black woman physician, showing any vulnerability is almost always perceived wrongly and usually leads to some judgment.

That I'm not competent.

That I'm not strong.

That I'm not intelligent.

That I'm not meant to be a doctor.

So we need communities that can lift us up and support us. This helps us thrive and ensuring black women can thrive in healthcare settings impacts all black women by improving doctors' well-being and their capacity to elevate black women entering healthcare settings, as patient or provider. When a thriving Black woman physician is present, it helps Black women to be seen, be heard and receive culturally-sensitive healthcare.

My later years as a pediatrician, I have been blessed by my ability to show my faults, my mistakes in motherhood and allow the moms of my patients, especially moms of color to open up and know that the space I create in my office is safe and judgment-free. It is the only way we can truly build the relationships that are necessary to reduce maternal mortality and other horrific health statistics for black women. In addition, we have the perspective to guide our colleagues who are not Black women, in how to heal the mistrust that the American healthcare system has created for Black women.

The fact that representation of Black women in healthcare may be decreasing is devastating but - given our challenges- understandable. and I think one major factor is not having spaces where they can discuss the challenges of being black women who are both moms and physicians, openly and honestly.

The epidemic of increased morbidity and mortality among black women can only be stopped by: 1) cultivating circles that demand change in how we are treated, how we are judged and how we are able to lead and 2) voicing our experiences and strategies for change through articles, in media, in our communities.

As a Black mom, I am choosing to create a space where I and others, who have not reached the mountaintop, can talk about the balancing act of existing without sacrificing our personal life, emotional and mental well- being, and the intersection with our health and the healthcare system.

I completely understand that some may say the mission and target group is extremely specific, but this is by design. There is a unique burden on Black women, trying to maintain being a model for their family, their patients and their communities and the reluctance of society to acknowledge that we aren't magical.

We are human.

Those of you who are or know Black women likely understand the need for this support and environment, so I urge you to join or share this space with the women in your life.

If there is anything I can say, please don't ignore that voice. Instead, let others hear your message. Let your non-Black colleagues, friends and family know that ally-ship is no longer sufficient, we need accomplices. People who will give us the space to speak and be vulnerable, support us in that effort and assist in disrupting the biased systems to finally allow Black women to thrive.

We are the change makers that once supported can better support the diverse communities they vowed to serve.