The Strong, Black, Independent Woman

“Mama, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she admitted over the phone, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Simone Cadwell had always been the strong one. The one people relied on. The one who had answers, who carried herself with confidence, who never showed weakness. But ever since that day in the boardroom, where she lost a part of her identity, she had felt herself unravelling.

At first, she told herself it was just stress. She just needed time to bounce back. But as the days stretched into weeks, something felt different. The exhaustion wasn’t just physical—it sat deep in her bones, making even the simplest tasks feel impossible. The apartment that she had once kept immaculate was slowly deteriorating. She slept too much yet never felt rested. Some mornings, just getting out of bed felt like a battle she wasn’t sure she wanted to win.

“I feel... empty. I’m always tired but sleep 12 hours a day, I can’t eat very well. My chest hurts sometimes, like something is pressing down on me. I think I might be depressed”

Her mother sighed heavily. “Simone, you are a strong Black woman. You’ve been through worse. You’ll pick yourself up and be fine.”

Simone hesitated, gripping the phone tighter. “I don’t think I will, Mama. I was thinking... maybe I should talk to someone, a therapist.”

Her mother scoffed. “A therapist? We don’t air our business out to strangers. What’s some outsider going to do? Tell you things you already know? You don’t need that. You just need to pray; pray and  pick yourself back up; start looking for work again or a nice man and stop dwelling on this.”

‘ But I really feel like –‘

 “Simone, now you listen to your mother’ there was not an ounce of sympathy in her voice ‘you are a strong Black woman. This is just another hurdle of life. You’re going to be fine, the good lord will get you through this.”

Simone pressed her fingers to her temples. “But what if I’m not fine?”

“Of course, you are,” her mother replies. “You’re just feeling sorry for yourself. Now, get up, go find a job, a man, and stop this pity party. And I don’t want to hear one more word of this depressed nonsense. ”

Simone nodded silently, even though her mother couldn’t see her. There was no point in arguing. She should have expected this. Be strong. Keep pushing. Don’t complain. It had been drilled into her head since childhood.

A few days had passed, and Simone had barely moved from her couch. The curtains remained drawn, shutting out any trace of sunlight. Dishes were pilling up, attracting flies and small roaches. The once bright coffee table was now covered in old take-away containers and Mold. She was starting to smell herself which wasn’t surprising considering she hadn’t showered in days nor eaten anything substantial. The weight pressing on her chest made everything feel pointless.

In an act of desperation, she reached out to Nadia, one of her closest friends, hoping for a different response. Hoping for someone to listen, to tell her it was okay not to be okay.

But the moment Nadia picked up the phone, any shred of hope quickly vanished.

“Girl, I don’t know what to do with Marcus. The other day I found some texts between him and some girl at the church. Nothing outright, but you know when something just feels off?’  Simone swallowed back the lump in her throat and listened.

‘This fool thinks I don’t have his password’ Nadia continues. ‘I don’t know if I should confront him or wait and see if he slips up by himself.”

‘Well do what you think is right.’ Simone replied whilst holding in her own tears. ‘Remember you should be able to talk to your husband about anything and if you feel uncomfortable with this then you guys can deal with it together.’ She wanted to say more but was trying her best to control her shaking voice.

For a brief moment, there was silence on the line before Nadia sighed. “yeah, you’re right. Whew. Girl, you don’t know how lucky you are to be single. No kids, no husband, no stress. You have it so easy, just you and your career.”

Simone hesitated, exhaling slowly. “Actually, I’ve been let go—”

‘Girl they fired you? What happened?’

‘For some time now they-‘

“Oh, hold on,” Nadia interrupted yet again. “One of the kids just knocked over an entire bag of flour. Lord help me.” There was a shuffle on the other end, her voice muffled as she scolded one of her children.

Simone waited, expecting her to return to the conversation. ‘Simone I got to run, I have to get these bad kids in the bath again. But don’t even worry about the job thing. You’ll land on your feet in no time. You always do. Oh, and thanks for always being so strong for me. Love you boo!”

The line went dead.

Simone sat staring at the phone for a long moment, the silence in her apartment growing louder by the second. The weight on her chest pressing harder than ever before.

The text messages that trickled in over the next few days didn’t help.

*You got this, Simone! You’ve been through worse!*

*Just take this as a lesson and bounce back! You always do.*

*You’re a strong, independent woman. You don’t need anyone to help you.*

*You’ll be fine. You always are.*

She searched for any messages asking her if she was ok; one that offered to come over, to sit with her, to let her cry if she needed to; but there was nothing aside from the various ‘ you can do this’ messages. Her friends and family felt she would push through like she always had. That she would be resilient.

But the truth is she wasn’t ok and no one noticed.

The idea of waking up tomorrow, of pushing through yet another day, felt unbearable. She couldn’t do this anymore. She didn’t want to do this anymore.

She decided to drag herself to her bathroom clutching onto her robe, the fabric now stained and worn from days of wear. As she stepped inside, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and almost didn’t recognize the woman staring back. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed from crying, her once neatly kept hair now wild and tangled. The robe she gripped tightly against her body felt like the only thing holding her together. She looked less than a shell of herself, a once-pristine woman, now a ghost of the person she used to be.

She forces herself to look away, opening the medicine cabinet, to stare at the collection of pills inside. Sleeping pills. Anxiety medication she had never taken but was prescribed years ago. A shaky exhale is pushed out as she grabbed the bottle, her hands trembling, her vision blurry with tears.

Nadia, shows up at Simone’s apartment one day, unannounced, and feeling emotional. She knocked several times, waiting, then knocked again, harder this time. confident that she was home—she had seen her car parked outside on her way up.

"Simone, open up! It’s me," she called out, impatiently. ‘I really need to talk to you.’

After another moment of silence, she huffed, reaching into her bag for the spare key Simone had given her some time ago. Pushing the door open, she steps inside, kicking her shoes off.

"Girl, you won’t believe what happened.’ She starts as she is searching for Simon in the apartment. ‘I finally confronted Marcus about those texts, and we got into a huge fight.’ She stops to open the beer she got out from the fridge as she passes the sink with the dirty dishes. ‘I had to get out of there for a while—I need my best friend right. Now."

She moves through the apartment, stepping on the pile of dirty clothes on the floor.  "And! Get this! He tried to turned it back on me. Like I’m crazy!’ she moves towards the bathroom, the door slightly ajar ‘I mean, I saw the texts! Can you imagine?"

She gently tries to push the door but something is blocking it. ‘Ugh’ She rolled her eyes. "Girl, don’t tell me you’re being shy. We’ve got the same body parts, Open up!"

But then she saw it.

A hand, limp, barely visible against the cold tiles. "Simone?" she whispered, her heart hammering. She shoves the door open with all her strength, and that’s when she saw her. The blood drained from her face.

—Dr. Simone Cadwell, was collapsed on the bathroom floor, empty pill bottles scattered beside her.

She screamed.

Dr. Simone Cadwell was gone. She didn’t leave a note. What was there to say? They had already decided who she was. The strong friend. The independent daughter; never needing help from anyone and capable of coming back from anything.

Word spread slowly. The people whose lives she had touched, the colleagues she had mentored, and the friends she had always been there for learned of her passing in fragments—whispers, forwarded messages, brief condolences exchanged in group chats. Some were shocked, others guilty. Many promised to attend her funeral, but when the day arrived, most couldn’t make it. Life went on for them.

Her mother, still in mourning, notified Simone’s former company. They offered nothing—no public acknowledgment, no condolence message, not even a simple card.

As people passed by the opened casket to say their final goodbyes, they were seeing her for the first time. She wasn’t unbreakable, nor was she the resilient figure they had leaned on. Here in this casket, she was just a woman. A vulnerable woman who had been silently drowning, carrying burdens no one ever thought to lift from her shoulders.

Nadia saw her in the casket last, at loss for words. It was then and only then she understood: sometimes the strong friend needs saving too.