Ms. T., 75, came to see me for therapy after a man stole her purse. He was in a car and lured her over under the guise of asking directions. Then he grabbed her bag and stepped on the accelerator. She was dragged halfway down the block before she let go. When I saw her a month later, she was still in physical pain from her injuries and emotional pain from having endured a traumatic experience.

Ms. T. had raised three successful children as a single mother, while enjoying a prosperous career as the head of a social services agency. She had gone through difficult times before, but she’d always been able to overcome them. Now she was embarrassed that she hadn’t been able to “get over” what had happened. She didn’t want to show her adult children her “weakness” and lean on them for support. She believed in therapy, in theory, but was ashamed to be the one who needed it. She no longer saw herself as the “strong black woman” she had once been.

This Strong Black Woman is a cultural icon, born of black women’s resilience in the face of systemic oppression that has dismantled families and made economic stability a formidable challenge. She is self-sufficient and self-sacrificing. She is a provider, caretaker and homemaker. And often, she is suffering.

I provide therapy to people from all socio-economic and racial backgrounds. I am the only black female clinical psychologist on the faculty of the department of psychiatry at Northwestern University, and black women often come to me in secret, feeling alone and embarrassed. They come despite friends and family telling them to “just pray.” They come because they are “desperate” and “can’t take it anymore.” I often get requests for informal consultation via email, LinkedIn, even Facebook. They’re skeptical about mental health treatment. They don’t want therapy, just to talk, and maybe get some advice.