On Being a Black Woman in the Deep South — What They Won’t Say Out Loud
Courageous. Honest. Liberating.
Let’s Tell the Truth — They Don’t Want to Hear It, But I’m Going to Say It Anyway
Being a Black woman in the Deep South is a dance on a razor’s edge — always has been. You learn early that survival isn’t about being soft or polite; it’s about being sharp, perceptive, unyielding. And yet, the world around you expects you to play small, smile on cue, and pretend you don’t see what you see.
Here’s the truth they don’t say out loud:
Black women in the Deep South built this place.
Black women hold this place together.
Black women know this place better than anyone alive.
But the Deep South has never known what to do with a Black woman who refuses to shrink.
The Burden They Expect Us to Carry
They’ll never admit it, but here’s the unspoken script:
Be strong, but don’t intimidate anyone.
Speak up, but not too loudly.
Work hard, but don’t outshine the men.
Serve the community, but don’t expect to be honored for it.
Tell the truth, but only the version that makes everyone else comfortable.
Let me say it plain:
That script is dead.
We’re done performing for systems that were built to silence us.
The Double Weight — Gender + Race
Black women aren’t just fighting sexism. We’re fighting the weaponized nostalgia of the South — a nostalgia that wants us frozen in time, grateful, obedient, and quiet.
But Black women have always been the strategists, the organizers, the memory keepers, the arbiters of justice, and the first ones to recognize danger in the room.
When you’re a Black woman here, you’re expected to understand everybody else’s pain while pretending your own doesn’t matter.
But our pain does matter.
Our voices do matter.
And our leadership is not optional — it’s necessary.
History Has Its Eyes on Us
Our mothers and grandmothers endured unspeakable nonsense with straight backs and steady eyes. They taught us how to survive this land:
with dignity when people tried to strip it
with brilliance when people tried to dim it
with grit when people tried to grind us down
And they passed us the torch saying:
“Don’t let them rewrite the story. Don’t let them bury the truth. Don’t let them shame you for seeing clearly.”
We carry that torch — not timidly, but boldly.
Living as a Black Woman in the Deep South Today
Despite everything, we love this place.
This is home — red dirt, pine trees, church pews, porch steps, laughter, struggle, resilience.
We love our people fiercely.
But we’re not fooled.
We’re not naïve.
And we’re certainly not going back to the days when Black women had to whisper to be heard.
No — today we speak with clarity.
With authority.
With the weight of our mothers and grandmothers behind us.
What They Won’t Say Out Loud — But We Know Deep Down
People want our strength but resent our power.
They want our labor but ignore our leadership.
They want our forgiveness but avoid accountability.
They want our culture but dismiss our wisdom.
Well, I’m done letting this stay “unspoken.”
Black women in the Deep South are not side characters.
We are the storytellers, the architects, the protectors, the visionaries.
And the future of this region depends on our willingness to stop downplaying what we already know:
We are the backbone.
We are the truth-tellers.
We are the future.
A Liberating Realization
The most freeing moment for a Black woman in the Deep South is when she realizes she’s not here to be liked — she’s here to be heard.
And once you stop worrying about making the South comfortable, you become unstoppable.
Because all along, the real problem wasn’t our loudness — it was their fear of our clarity.
Their fear of our history.
Their fear of our memory.
Their fear of what we might change if we finally said everything we’ve been holding back.
Well — here it is.
Said. Unfiltered.
And we’re just getting started.
✦ The Southern Justice Archive
A project by Charlotte A. Clark-Frieson
Documenting truth. Preserving legacy. Confronting injustice with courage.
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