Mental health is such a hush-hush conversation in the black community that when you do try to talk about it, it’s like you said a bad word. I can see it now, you come in from school with a grimace on your face and the first thing mama says is “girl, you better straighten up that face before you come in here! What’s wrong with you?” When you try to explain that you had a bad day, the response was often, “Ain’t nothing wrong with you. What you got to worry ‘bout, you’re just a child?”
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Picture it “Brooklyn 1991.” I was riding the B52 bus with 3 other friends on my way home from school. I was in 6th grade and girls in my school were getting their hair relaxed…except for me.
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