Dear Burned Out Black Girl, You Don’t Have to Be the Serious One All the Time

Maybe the answer to the childish husband isn’t making him grow up on your timeline. Maybe part of the answer is putting down what was never yours to carry.

Dear Burned Out Black Girl,

If you’re new here, I’m Tyra Steverson, a licensed therapist and founder of 290 Therapy.

I write Dear Burned Out Black Girl for Black women who are tired of carrying everything—the relationships, the responsibilities, the expectations, the healing, the ambition, and everybody else’s shit—while still trying to figure out who they are underneath all of it.

A lot of what I write here comes from the intersection of what I’ve learned as a therapist and what I’m still learning as a woman living my own damn life.

And this is one of those things I’m still learning.

There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from being the responsible one.

You remembered.

You planned.

You followed up.

You noticed what was running low.

You thought three steps ahead.

You reminded him of the thing you already reminded him about.

And eventually, you look over at this grown-ass man laughing, playing, forgetting shit, moving through life like somebody else has the clipboard—and you think:

Must be fucking nice.

And sometimes, yes.

He needs to grow up.

Let’s get that out of the way.

Sometimes what we call “childish” is avoidance. Sometimes it’s learned helplessness. Sometimes it’s a man who has gotten entirely too comfortable knowing somebody else will catch whatever he drops.

But I’m learning there might be another side to this.

Some of us have become entirely too good at catching shit.

We carry responsibility so seriously that we don’t even give life the opportunity to show us what would happen if we stopped.

We assume:

If I don’t remember it, it won’t happen.

If I don’t remind him, he’ll forget.

If I don’t handle it, it’ll get fucked up.

And you know what?

Maybe.

Let it.

Not recklessly. Not when somebody’s safety is involved. Not when the consequence would be catastrophic.

But sometimes?

Let the shit be uncomfortable.

Let him forget.

Let him figure out how to fix it.

Let something happen differently than you would have done it.

Let another adult experience the natural consequences of being responsible for something.

Because every time you automatically pick up his slack, you aren’t only saving him from the consequences.

You’re saving yourself from the anxiety of watching something potentially go wrong.

And I’m starting to wonder if some of our over-functioning is our own fear of responsibility showing up backwards.

His fear might sound like:

I don’t want all of that on me.

Ours might sound like:

I can’t trust anybody else to carry it.

Different behaviors.

Same obsession with controlling what happens when responsibility gets distributed.

You Are Allowed to Be Unserious Too

This might be my favorite part.

Because I don’t think the answer is creating a household with two extremely serious people walking around making sure everybody is performing adulthood correctly.

Girl, that sounds miserable too.

Maybe sometimes you meet that man where he is.

Laugh.

Play.

Do something stupid.

Stop correcting everything.

Let him make you laugh when you’re trying to be mad.

Let yourself be the one who doesn’t know.

Let somebody else figure it out.

Let adulthood contain some fucking delight.

Because some women have carried the load for so long that seriousness starts feeling like maturity.

It isn’t.

You can be responsible and playful.

Dependable and spontaneous.

A grown-ass woman who occasionally doesn’t know what the hell is going on.

You don’t have to become childish.

But you might need permission to stop being everybody’s adult.

And No, This Doesn’t Mean Lower Your Standards

You still need boundaries.

You still need expectations.

You still need consistency.

You still need to say what you need out loud.

And sometimes you need to say it more than once.

Not because you’re raising him.

Because relationships require communication, and people cannot consistently meet expectations that remain trapped inside your head.

Tell him.

“I need you to handle this.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for reminding you.”

“When you do this, it leaves me carrying this.”

“I need more from you here.”

Say the thing.

Then watch what he does with the information.

Because communication gives someone an opportunity.

Consistency gives you data.

If you clearly communicate what you need and nothing changes, that’s information.

If you establish a boundary and he repeatedly violates it, that’s information.

If you stop rescuing him and he rises to the occasion, that’s information too.

You don’t have to immediately turn every problem into a verdict about the entire relationship.

Sometimes you just need to stop interfering long enough to see who you’re actually partnered with.

I’m Still Learning the Rest

I don’t have a pretty little five-step formula for this.

I’m still learning where support ends and over-functioning begins.

I’m still learning when grace is appropriate and when grace has quietly become enabling.

I’m still learning when to push, when to communicate, when to laugh, when to let something fail, and when to say:

Nah. This actually isn’t acceptable to me.

But I know this much.

I don’t want love to turn me into somebody’s mother.

And I don’t want responsibility to turn me into a woman who has forgotten how to play.

Maybe partnership isn’t about finding someone who carries everything exactly like you do.

Maybe it’s learning how to clearly name what belongs to each of you—and developing enough tolerance to actually let them carry their part.

Even when they carry it differently.

Even when watching them figure it out makes you uncomfortable.

Even when letting go means something gets dropped.

Because, Burned Out Black Girl,

you deserve a life where you aren’t constantly bracing yourself to catch everything.

Put some of that shit down.

And go be unserious for a little while.

You are allowed to play too.

Come Heal With Us

If this sounds like the kind of conversation you’ve been needing, come join us inside Hustle & Heal: A Community for Black Women Building and Becoming.

It’s a space for Black women figuring out how to build meaningful lives without abandoning themselves in the process.

Join Hustle & Heal:
https://www.facebook.com/share/g/1DHFeKs4Gt/?mibextid=wwXIfr

And we’re taking these conversations beyond the internet at the Hustle & Heal Summit—a gathering created for Black women who are building, becoming, healing, resting, connecting, and figuring this shit out in real time.

Because I don’t just want us talking about a different way to live.

I want us to experience it.

More Hustle & Heal Summit details coming soon.