INTERSECTIONALITY

The Cost of Playing Nice: How Fear of Being the “Angry Black Woman” Made Me a Coward

What I’ve learned about silencing myself, playing it safe, and how it’s killing my writing — and my joy.

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I think I might be a coward.

I know this blog isn’t supposed to be about me — it’s supposed to be about you. But please, let me offer my story as a cautionary tale. Use it as a mirror, a crack in the wall, a conversation starter. Ask yourself:
In what ways have I been a coward?
And what might change in my life if I chose not to be?

I’ve been conditioned to be nice.
To be agreeable.
To be soft-spoken and inoffensive.
Especially around white people, men I liked, elders, and anyone in authority.

I learned to edit myself in real time — I don’t hold back from saying what I think, but I hold back from showing what I really feel about what I think, to smile even when I want to scream.

Why?

Because I’ve spent a lifetime trying not to be perceived as an angry Black woman.