I want to talk about something that sent shockwaves through my audience recently.
In Black Expat Stories episode 8, my guest Stephanie Perry (co-founder of the ExodUS Summit) stepped on a loooooot of toes when she revealed why she rejects the idea of Black Excellence.
When we posted the teaser, the clip quickly made its way around the internet. Viewers passionately defended, questioned, and grappled with this concept that's been a cornerstone of Black empowerment for generations. In that moment, I realized we'd touched a nerve so deep, so raw, that it demanded further exploration.
Y'all, the comments section on Instagram went wild. People got real passionate real quick:
While we were recording, I didn't realize that part of our conversation would blow up like it did, so we only spent a few minutes on it during the show. I didn't get to dive into my own thoughts on Black Excellence because we had so much other ground to cover.
But the fervor of the responses made one thing clear: this conversation is far from over.
So now it seems like the perfect time to reallllly get into it.
Shall we?
“If I were a White girl named Courtney, I bet you I’d be a multi-millionaire by now!”
These words used to dance on my tongue, a bitter tango with the American Dream. I'd toss them at my husband, each syllable a grenade of frustration, exploding in the space between what I'd been promised and what I'd received.
I was the star pupil of the Talented Tenth Brigade, their commandments etched into my bones:
Don't get in trouble (be invisible when it suits them).
Get a good education (climb that ivory tower, ignore the thorns).
Work twice as hard (sacrifice your soul on the altar of achievement)
Three degrees hung on my wall like trophies, each from a top-tier university. I could speak the King’s English to the Queen’s taste. Plus, I possessed a host of transferable skills. In my 20s, I truly believed the world was my oyster, ready to be cracked open by the sheer force of my Black Excellence.
But as the years wore on and I arrived at my 30s, that oyster began to feel more like an inescapable prison. Its walls grew higher with each exhausting day, mocking me with the mirage of "better" always shimmering just out of reach.
I started to find holes in the logic of the brand of Black Excellence I was coerced into embody.ing
If education was the key, why did every door of opportunity feel bolted shut after I graduated?
If working twice as hard was the secret sauce, why did financial stability feel like a cruel game rife with rules that could be rewritten at a moment’s notice?
The American Dream I was sold started to feel like a Ponzi scheme with diminishing returns on my ever-increasing investment of blood, sweat, and tears.
It wasn’t just me that was feeling it, either. My friends and I would have frequent conversations around how frustrating is was to be Black in America. Yet, at the same time, we were conflicted about our feelings.
On the one hand, we knew that in some ways, our circumstances were better than our elders, predecessors and ancestors. But the glacial speed of progress left a bitter taste our mouths.
As a descendant of those who built this country with unpaid sweat and blood, I found myself screaming into the void: Why is it still so damn hard to get ahead?
Why does it feel like we're fighting the same battles, begging for the same change, desperately hoping for a progress that's always "coming soon" but never quite here?
I got tired of always having my i’s dotted and t’s crossed. I was exhausted by the paralyzing pursuit of perfection.
What had playing by the rules of Black Excellence actually gotten me? What was my ROI?
I was angry that others could be mediocre while I had to always be excellent.
In one of the most honest moments I ever had in therapy, I confessed, “Everyday it feels like I’m walking backward on a tight rope BLINDFOLDED with no net to catch me if I fall.”
Black people don’t often get the grace or the space to fail or to miss the mark without it being an indictment on our character AND our whole community.
On top of that, we’re always made to feel like nothing we do is enough.
The sneaky thing about living under White Supremacy is that it makes you feel obligated to upholding certain cultural agreements.
Things like working twice as hard to only get half as far or as much. Like sacrificing our sanity for proximity to privilege and power. Like bending yourself into a pretzel in your speech, hair and clothing choices, and hobbies in order to get the approval of White people.
Growing up in an all-white suburb and going to predominately white schools, it was drilled into me:
Don’t be too loud.
Don’t be too different.
Don’t be too Black.
So, I spent a considerable amount of time unsuccessfully trying to blend in while making sure the positive deeds I did stood out.
It always felt like an interesting interplay between painful invisibility and damning hyper-visibility - an extremely fine line I danced without hardly ever taking a break from the performance.
It wasn’t until I started to consciously decolonize all aspects of my life did it dawn on me…
Black excellence as it is pedestaled and practiced by most people is actually a poison pill.
At its core, it’s a concept that I believe prioritizes the White gaze at the expense of one’s own well-being and authenticity. It's an idea that often tells us our worth is measured by our ability to overcome, to achieve, to excel in spaces that were never designed for us in the first place. But in doing so, we unknowingly uphold the very system we're trying to dismantle.
In our conversation, My guest Stephanie brilliantly stated:
“If nobody is free until everybody is free, then we have to reject black excellence because black excellence is only prioritizing a certain group of black people.
There are people who black excellence is always going to exclude. Black excellence is always going to exclude, a large percentage of black women. It's always going to exclude the single mom, the underemployed, the unemployed, the disabled.
It's always going to exclude those people. So let's reject it. Let's try a new way of being, and let's let that way of being come from our own sense of self, our own agency, and not from trying to please. People who we don't even care about anyway.”
As I started to critically examine my relationship to the concept of Black Excellence, I had to ask myself some tough questions:
How many times had I pushed myself past my limits, sacrificing my mental and physical health on the altar of "excellence"?
How often had I judged myself and others by impossible standards, perpetuating a cycle of burnout and self-doubt?
The truth is, Black excellence is a bait and switch.
It promises empowerment but actually delivers exhaustion. It speaks of pride but breeds perfectionism. It claims to elevate us but often leaves us feeling perpetually inadequate.
Now, don’t get me wrong…
I don’t mind operating in the spirit of excellence. It’s how I’m wired. It’s the fact that perfection is a prerequisite to survival that’s the problem for me.
What if we dared to reject this way of being altogether?
What if we reimagined excellence and redefined it by our own terms?
What if we all just decided - right in this moment - that we are worthy, not because of our achievements or our ability to overcome adversity, but simply because we exist?
This journey of reassessing my relationship to Black Excellence really kicked into high gear when I hit the reset button and left the U.S. (which you can read more about below)
In May of 2021, I arrived in Mexico in a state of burn out.
Trying to survive a pandemic while running a business was taking its toll on me. Not to mention all the grieving I was doing around my friend’s untimely suicide.
I was desperately due for a change because I knew the way I was living was not sustainable. Something had to give, or I wasn’t gon’ make it.
Removing myself from the familiar pressures and expectations of American society was like a breath of fresh air. It was a decision that allowed me to see myself more clearly.
In the slower pace of life, I healed the parts of myself that had been suffocated by the constant striving for excellence. I learned that I could be worthy without being exceptional and that I could be successful without sacrificing my well-being.
Slowly, but surely I started unraveling even more conditioning I had unknowingly internalized.
Instead of beating myself up for every little mistake or misstep, I started to offer myself more grace while accepting my human limitations. Instead of pushing myself to work until exhaustion, I took a career break and rediscovered my love for writing.
Moving abroad extracted me from the unrelenting demands of the White gaze and outside of its purview, I gave myself the permission to redefine what success was for me. I prioritized my mental health, my physical wellness and became extremely intentional about cultivating joy.
I simplified my life and got down to the bare bones of what authentically fulfilled me - without taking into account what other people had to say about it.
Then, it occurred to me that half the goals and accolades I was striving for, I didn’t even genuinely desire.
Instead, I became more concerned with how my life felt to me instead of how it looked to other people.
I became more focused on being, rather than doing.
I didn’t know it then, but I believe that was my body rewiring itself.
Suddenly, I found that I had more energy. I was laughing and smiling more. I had more space to explore my interests. I stopped defining myself by my work. I found that I liked myself more and I began to recognize my positive traits outside of my deeds and accomplishments. But most importantly, I stumbled upon a profound sense of unshakeable peace…
Peace that assured me that I am inherently worthy of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Peace that protected me from the clutches of the capitalistic grind that pulverizes your will and shatters your soul.
Peace that let me see and appreciate all the different ways my Black brothers and sisters express themselves without judgment - even when those expressions weren’t necessarily my cup of tea.
I was happy. Finally.
I left the United States and managed to - in the words of Ntozake Shange - “find God in myself, and I loved her…fiercely.”
But you don’t have to move to a foreign country like I did to start re-evaluating your relationship to Black Excellence.
Honestly, even before I entertained the idea of moving abroad, I started embracing small acts of rebellion against the tyranny of society’s expectations…
And so can you by:
Recognizing that your rest is just as important as your work. Take that nap, say no to that extra project, and give yourself more unscheduled down time.
Celebrating your ordinary victories. Not every achievement needs to be groundbreaking for you to be proud of it.
Defining success on your own terms. What does a fulfilling life look like to you, outside of societal expectations? What does it feel like? That’s what matters the most.
Seeking out communities that value your authentic self, not just your accomplishments. Who do you feel like you have to put on a mask for? Are you tired of performing? Rip the mask off and exit stage left. You don’t have to perform in order to be worthy of recognition, care and love.
Practicing vulnerability. How many times have you quit a new endeavor simply because you didn’t want to be seen trying? When you allow yourself to be seen, imperfections and all, you can attract other authentic people who will love and adore all of you - not just the pretty, palatable parts.
When we free ourselves from the constraints of society’s expectations for our lives, we create spaces for more nuanced, more expansive, and more authentic expressions of our Blackness, our BEINGness.
I sincerely believe that rejecting the toxic parts of Black excellence is a profound act of self-care, self-preservation, and resistance that gives white supremacy the middle finger….
And as Audre Lorde eloquently puts it: “That is an act of political warfare."
-Courtney
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