The Untold Reality of Black Girlhood
design: Ana Rodriguez
In a world that imposes unbalanced and unattainable expectations on Black and African American girls and women, rejection, hostility and the relentless challenge of simply existing collide with the fight for identity and equality.
by Orezimena Ubogu ★ DECEMBER 3, 2024
Because silence is often mistaken for obedience, I am sharing the truth—not just for myself, but for many other Black and African American girls and women. In avoiding articulating this directly, I would fall short of who I was, who I am, and who I hope to become. Enacting the opposite would be a loss of myself and committing an unimaginable offense to my community, the girl I was, the woman I am, those who raised and love me, and those who are, and continue to be, silenced. Acknowledging this reality is crucial and I am unconcerned with the opinions of others because amplifying these words is necessary. Some mistake my desire to use my voice when deliberately silenced and my ambition to succeed beyond individuals who wish for my failure as “bitchiness.” I am no bitch. I am an African American woman—depending on who you ask, there is no distinction between the two.
Society has always held Black women to a different standard, and this has been the case for as long as I can remember. Growing up in predominantly white environments, I often lacked the benefit of the doubt given to others. I was to be beyond exceptional while enforcing that constraint did not apply to others. Before I learned to walk, I had to reach unattainable expectations of beauty, success, and intelligence. Even now, I obsess over minor details—losing four points on an assignment where I still received an A, being a second late to class when I am always early, or overanalyzing every interaction to ensure I do not come across as too forceful, too submissive, or persistently not enough. These small things consume me because perfection is the only way to avoid perception as inferior, although even that is not enough. Nevertheless, the pressure to be perfect drives me—I constantly need to prove myself because I do not want to contribute to a stereotype or disprove what Black women are capable of. Choosing how I speak is a challenge, knowing that non-Black women have an advantage I will never receive. At the same time, I face scrutiny over my words and the way I choose to use them, given the damaging beliefs and objectification that suffocate the Black identity. Nonetheless, these are shared experiences by many Black and African American women.
Black girlhood is a complex entity that shapes Black women today and answers by two names: “Black girlhood” and “adultification.” Both are necessary names for someone who has and continues to live it. The world told me my skin color was too dark to be beautiful and that the only way to be valued was to have Eurocentric features—blue eyes, fair skin, and light hair. There were times when I believed it. I was shown my value did not equate to those I spent the most time around, and it impacted how I viewed myself and behaved. I was not myself and believed I had to become someone else just to scratch the surface of the opportunities of those around me. After facing challenges and experiences, I recognize that failing to value my identity insults myself and those who raised me and laid the foundation for me to become the woman I am today. Still, the rhetoric of female Blackness today, particularly in the narratives of the “angry Black woman,” “crazy Black woman,” or the “promiscuous Black woman," discourages me from showing too much of myself at once. Because of this, it has always been more difficult to be authentically myself. I am naturally expressive, but I forcefully downplay my emotions to fight against replicating stereotypes. I can never be too much of anything—ambitious, qualified, honest, or suggestive. If I lose balance, I become the undesirable version of myself in the eyes of others.
I presented myself differently from a young age because I have always appeared older than others because of adultification. That is still the case now, which some might consider a blessing in disguise, offering “advantages” and opportunities. As appealing as it seems, this stripped me of the freedom of youth. When I was in middle school, I attended various summer camps on college campuses, where I was assumed to be a college student and expected to answer questions far beyond my understanding. At the time, I loved the thought of being seen as older. Looking back now, it is clear that I never really looked my age in the eyes of the world around me, yet I was still not enough. There is a brutal reality associated with Black girlhood: You have to grow up sooner than everyone else while being stripped of experiences because of the color of your skin.
Black girlhood is as real as it gets. You navigate life wondering if someone will disrespect, ignore, and belittle you for the color of your skin while knowing you must exist in a specific way to be taken seriously by your politicians, individuals in power, and those around you. You wonder if someone who looks like you will ever have the same opportunities as a White man who still actively supports hatred against you and your community, his recent actions just a fragment of an ongoing, unbroken chain of normalized offenses throughout history. The world we live in makes phrases we know all too well—"I do not like Black girls," "You are pretty for a Black girl," and "Why do you have to make everything about race?" "You sound White," "You are one of the good ones," "Can I call you the N-word if I do not mean it?" "Are you sure you are not mixed?" "You are so outspoken," "You are so exotic," and countless others—systemically normalized, although they only surface our pain.
These truths surrounding Black girlhood are not just recent occurrences and deserve acknowledgment. In the theme of unapologetic authenticity, I have invited other female-identifying African American and Black undergraduate and graduate students to share their stories and experiences, which, to no surprise, mirror my own.
Victoire Lokossou, a sophomore at Syracuse University, emphasizes the unique pressures Black girls face in academic environments. She describes how teachers have always expected her to demonstrate a maturity beyond her years, a burden that robbed her of the joys of childhood and continues to shape her life today. This expectation leads to the frequent misinterpretation of her emotions as aggression rather than valid expressions of frustration or disappointment. Despite acknowledging that resulted in her developing a stronger sense of maturity, Victoire longs for the freedom to have experienced her childhood without the weight of adult responsibilities. Her journey illustrates the denied right of Black girls to simply be children. She shares her struggles with mental health, highlighting the stereotype of the “strong Black woman” that leads to the dismissal of her emotions. She notes that her anxiety manifests as irritability, which can alienate her from others and make it difficult to find support. Victoire expresses frustration at the outward expectations that dictate she should have everything figured out, creating an internal conflict where she must always appear composed. This pressure to maintain a façade of strength complicates her ability to express vulnerability and seek help when needed, illustrating the emotional toll of expectations on Black women.
Taylor Whitmore, a sophomore at Syracuse University, shares her contrasting experiences growing up in the Bay Area and attending an all-girls Catholic high school. While at home, she felt free to express herself, supported by her diverse community; however, her school suffocated her individuality. Despite her immense leadership roles and academic success, a false accusation of theft from a co-president of a club she founded shattered her reputation. The accusation deeply affected her, prompting her to gather evidence to clear her name, but the support from teachers felt superficial. Throughout conflict resolution meetings, the school diminished her voice, and she faced criticism for being assertive. The comments towards her highlighted biases, as individuals belittled her with the term "hyphy" and warned her to tone down her attitude. Things escalated when a teacher began to stalk her, leading Taylor to write a detailed email addressing microaggressions and the stereotype of the "angry Black woman." Her substantial attempts were met with silence until her mother threatened legal action. While she does not regret standing up for herself, she wishes she had done so sooner. The experience makes her more cautious in self-expression and reflects on how that situation has shaped her identity.
Charlee Bryant, a sophomore at Auburn University, reflects on her dual identity as a Black girl navigating predominantly white spaces. She experiences a sense of alienation in both Black and non-Black circles, feeling “white-washed” among her Black peers due to her mannerisms and interests while being seen as “too Black” or “one of the good ones” in white spaces. This dichotomy complicates her sense of belonging and highlights the discomfort that arises from how others perceive her. Charlee also points out the over-familiarity some white people exhibit, which can feel intrusive and reductive. Her reflections reveal the nuanced challenges of fitting into different social groups while maintaining her authentic self.
Brianna Gillfillian, an international graduate student at Syracuse University, discusses her experiences as a Jamaican woman in STEM at a predominantly white institution, where she often feels the weight of “Black Excellence.” She describes how many see her achievements as remarkable simply because of her race, which undermines her efforts and reinforces a narrative of “otherness.” Brianna recalls frustration when her ideas are dismissed and reclaimed in group settings, leading to feelings of isolation. However, her experience as a student speaker at the 2024 Itanwa Orinwa Ceremony allowed her to reclaim her narrative and express her identity without dilution. Embracing her cultural heritage has become a significant part of her self-acceptance, empowering her to assert her worth on her terms, free from societal limitations.
The five of us are different from one another, yet we share many experiences. This acknowledgment is for the individuals and communities who have been forcefully silenced and denied opportunities simply for making others “uncomfortable.” Black girls deserve to grow up free from the weight of stereotypes and hatred-filled narratives. We deserve the freedom to express our emotions without fear of unwarranted objectification or cruel judgment, to embrace our identities without hesitation, and to pursue our aspirations without the burden of societal expectations or harmful rhetoric restraining us. We must continue challenging the narratives that confine us, amplify our voices, and celebrate the diverse experiences that shape our lives. Black girls and women must not be seen as representations of struggle but as embodiments of strength, resilience, and limitless potential. Our experiences matter and deserve to be shared, acknowledged, and uplifted.