― Bebe Moore Campbell
We have all heard the saying, “It’s okay not to be okay.” And while this is a true statement, it is often difficult for women and people of color, in particular, to accept and internalize its truth. This is because we are keenly aware that we live in a society where our color, our gender, and other aspects of our beings are often viewed as deficits. As such, it is not surprising that when we feel stressed and mentally burdened, we are reluctant to admit it. We do not want to say it out loud.
There have been recent reports in the media about the increasing number of young women in mental health crisis. And for women of color, more mainstream mental health challenges are compounded by the additional stressors of systemic racism, social exclusion, cultural norms, and higher levels of self-criticism and judgment. It is undoubtedly the case that women of color weather more psychological and social burdens than their counterparts who do not identify as people of color. Decades of research support this.
However, I believe that one of the most important factors impacting our mental wellness is how we view ourselves and what standards or value systems we use to gauge our own worth. All of this hinges on our mindset.
I would posit that a healthy mindset must be anchored in the truth of who we are.
So who are we?
We are overcomers, conquerors, innovators, intellectuals, creators, storytellers, trailblazers, history-makers, arbiters of justice, nurturers, healers, champions of light and love, and so much more.
And please understand, being all of these things does not preclude us from needing to attend to our mental health. In fact, the most successful and well-known trailblazers of current and past generations have openly acknowledged that they regularly engage in mental wellness practices. Many have also shared the sad reality of what has transpired when they have neglected to do so.
Our World Changer of the Month, Bebe Moore Campbell, a world-renowned author, was also a staunch mental health advocate. She became a champion of mental health awareness after weathering the challenges of mothering and caring for her immensely talented daughter, actress Maia Campbell, who had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. The elder Campbell, who was quoted as saying, “Knowing who you are begins in the mind,” also publicly and regularly reiterated that there should be no shame in a person’s acknowledgment of their struggles with mental illness. In other words, needing or seeking out mental health support does not detract from our genius or our exceptionalism. Our mental health is one component among many that comprise who we are. While the state of our mental health does not define us, it should not be ignored or neglected.
As we begin Mental Health Awareness Month, we should celebrate the life of Bebe Moore Campbell and allow her legacy to ignite a fire within all of us to prioritize our own wellbeing.
Elizabeth Bebe Moore Campbell was born on February 19, 1950, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, to Doris Edwina Carter Moore and George Linwood Peter Moore. When her parents separated in 1953, she went on to live with her mother and maternal grandmother in Philadelphia during the school year and her father in North Carolina during the summer. Her experiences growing up in both the North and South gave her a unique perspective on racial segregation in the United States.
Campbell attended Philadelphia’s Girls High School and upon graduation was admitted to the University of Pittsburgh where she was the only African American student in her dorm. She graduated with her Bachelor of Science degree in elementary education in 1972, and began teaching in the Atlanta public schools. In 1975, Campbell moved to Washington, D.C., where she continued to teach. After enrolling in a class led by Toni Cade Bambara, a renowned African American author, Campbell transitioned out of teaching to become a writer.
In the mid-1970s, Campbell was published in The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Los Angeles Times, Essence, Ebony and Seventeen, among other publications. She also appeared as a regular commentator on National Public Radio. Campbell’s first book, a fictional work entitled Successful Women, Angry Men: Backlash in the Two Career Marriage, was an analysis of the relationship between a woman’s career and her marriage. Sweet Summer: Growing up With and Without My Dad, her second book, was a memoir of her childhood in a divorced family. Her most critically acclaimed novel, Your Blues Ain’t Like Mine, inspired by the murder of Emmett Till in 1955, describes the impact of this senseless crime as experienced by the victim's family, and explored southern racism. It was described as one of the most influential books of 1992 by The New York Times Magazine, won an NAACP Image Award and was named a “New York Times Notable Book” for 1992. Campbell was also the author of three New York Times bestsellers: Brothers and Sisters, Singing in the Comeback Choir, and What You Owe Me, which was also a Los Angeles Times "Best Book of 2001.”
Campbell was a mental health advocate who worked tirelessly to shed light on the mental health needs of the Black community and other underrepresented communities. While navigating the mental health system in an effort to secure care for her own daughter, actress Maia Campbell, Campbell realized that there was a dearth of mental health resources in communities of color. In response, Campbell founded the Inglewood chapter of the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) to help support her daughter and others like her, who suffered from mental illness. “Stigma is one of the main reasons why people with mental health problems don't seek treatment or take their medication,” Campbell once said. “People of color, particularly African Americans, feel the stigma more keenly. In a race-conscious society, some don’t want to be perceived as having yet another deficit.”
Campbell's interest in mental health was the catalyst for her first children's book, Sometimes My Mommy Gets Angry, which was published in September 2003. This book won the “NAMI Outstanding Literature Award” for 2003. The book tells the story of how a little girl copes with being reared by her mentally ill mother.
Campbell succumbed to complications from brain cancer and passed away on November 27, 2006, at age 56. Campbell’s personal archives are housed in the Bebe Moore Campbell collection at the University of Pittsburgh Archives Service Center. In May 2008, the U.S. House of Representatives announced July as Bebe Moore Campbell National Minority Mental Health Awareness Month in recognition of her efforts to bring awareness to the unique struggles that underrepresented groups face regarding mental illness. In 2017, the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors named a branch of the Los Angeles County Public Library in her honor.
This text is excerpted from:https://www.mhanational.org/black-pioneers-mental-health, https://www.thehistorymakers.org/biography/bebe-moore-campbell-41,
https://namica.org/bebe-moore-campbell-minority-mental-health-month/#:~:text=illness%20among%20minorities.-,About%20Bebe%20Moore%20Campbell,she%20passed%20away%20in%202006, and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bebe_Moore_Campbell.
― President Jimmy Carter ¹
We recently took our daughters and nieces to a dude ranch in Arizona. In deciding to move forward with the vacation, my husband and I agreed that we were taking a risk, and that we were going to be stepping completely outside of our comfort zones in going on this adventure. After all, none of us had been to a dude ranch before and had been wholly born, raised, and socialized in urban environments. We knew not what we would encounter. I certainly had some reservations about how we might be received, but this looked like it could be a tremendous experience for the girls. Ultimately, we decided not to self-select out because of fear.
Upon our arrival at the ranch, we found the staff to be warm and welcoming. In taking in our surroundings, we noticed that we were the only people of color on the ranch and were able to surmise that the majority of guests likely lived a very different existence than we did. From ethnic background, to politics, to regional representation, we were very different from everyone else that was present. All of that notwithstanding, a beautiful thing happened during our time at the dude ranch: we connected with our fellow humans, despite our differences. One of my nieces developed an unlikely friendship with an older former military octogenarian from North Carolina. Another one of my nieces developed a friendship with a girl much younger than she from Lansing, Michigan. One of my daughters met a young lady who shared her unusual name, who had a completely different background and upbringing than she did. And yet another one of my daughters learned how to wrangle a miniature horse from a little girl from Ohio.
Whatever concerns we had about how our family would be received were completely assuaged early on. We not only benefited from the connections we made with people who were very different from us, but we know that we edified others through our presence at the ranch.
It is natural for humans to want to stay in protective cocoons, and to not venture too far outside our comfort zones into terrain that might seem unfamiliar. After all, when we go into uncharted territory, we open ourselves up to the unknown. As parents, we want to protect our children and avoid exposing them to experiences that might be harmful to them. But when we live in a way that prioritizes risk aversion over all else, we can miss out on living. Our self-insulation can work so well that we can become detached from other humans and forgo experiences that diverse human interaction can bring.
At this moment in our nation's history, where we find ourselves at the height of division and separation, I implore us all to push ourselves outside of our comfort zones and extend a hand across the aisle. We are all more similar than we know. And if we sit in judgment of one another and prevent ourselves from loving each other, we will miss prime opportunities for connection and growth.
¹ President Jimmy Carter, a Caucasian Southerner with a military background, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2002 for his work to find peaceful solutions to international conflicts and to advance democracy and human rights of all people. His life and his legacy are prime examples of the importance of cross-ethnic connection and allyship.
