For nearly two decades, I approached my federal career through the lens of a survivor. I was a dedicated employee who was very skilled at “fitting in” every room where I was the only one who looked like me. I made conscious decisions to carefully choose how I spoke, how I carried myself physically, and how I expressed myself emotionally. I wanted to fit the unspoken expectations of an institution that valued my labor, but struggled to accept and appreciate my humanity. I performed at a high level for my job, and suffered from the fatigue of having Imposter Syndrome and low-grade anxiety from being constantly observed.
Seven years ago, my life changed. I had hoped it would bring me healing, though it felt scary and uncertain. My husband decided to transition from his profession, and we relocated to North Carolina. We moved at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic — a time of international isolation that removed the comfort of our usual supports just as we were attempting to become grounded in our new environment. I carried the weight of guilt for displacing my children from their haven of familiarity to begin a new world in a place where we had no connection or roots.
Things escalated even further after my oldest child experienced a mental health crisis. This event rocked the entire foundation of our family unit, exacerbated my own anxiety, and left me frantic about the mental well-being of my youngest. I attempted to keep everything intact — the career, the 27-year marriage, the parenting, and the mental well-being of my children — as my own foundational structure was slowly falling apart without my knowledge. When a medical disability and a diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder finally forced me into early retirement, I felt an overwhelming sense of loss.
For 20 years, I defined my self-worth by my ability to endure the pressure of a system that was never intended to support me.
However, that “forced” stop became the most pivotal moment of my life. It was not the end; it was a needed shift. Studying Behavioral & Social Science at North Carolina Central University (NCCU) became an act of reclaiming myself. Today, I am not only a full-time college student but also in the process of planning my second retirement – this time on my own terms.
My front-and-center role at NCCU, coupled with the fact that I now get to watch my two college-aged children grow, gives me a unique view of the modern human experience. I can see firsthand the challenges that people of all generations face today as they try to navigate the complexity of their identities, the pressure of their careers, and the pursuit of true mental wellness. I am no longer asking for a seat at the table that does not honor the struggles I have faced; I am developing a new understanding of the psychological impact of those struggles.
I have progressed from being a player in a system that required my invisibility to being a student of the human experience.
My journey has taught me that the “professionalism” we are so often encouraged to embody is often a thinly veiled disguise for the erosion of our mental health. As I work towards earning this degree, my purpose is clear: to create a bridge between the unseen stressors of systemic marginalization and the lived experiences of families living in crisis. I am no longer concerned with performing for others; I want to understand — and ultimately help to heal — the wounds that many of us carry in silence.
To my colleagues and students in the ABPsi community, my life is no longer a performance — it’s a study in resilience. I am humbled to travel down this path of healing and advocacy, taking the pain of the past and transforming it into the foundation for a more authentic future.
Join other members of the ABPsi community at the 57th International Annual ABPsi Convention, The Illumination: Freeing the African Spirit, July 29 – August 1, 2026, in Baltimore, Maryland.
*Photos by Ofido Henry and De’Andre Bush on Unsplash
