The Invisible Black Woman

After the songwriting session and a much-needed break, we returned to the room where Nathan, our therapist for part two of the night, had clearly been stalling while some of us lingered outside. His tactic was humor. He’d been talking about Meatloaf—the singer, not the food—and how life sometimes feels like it’s written by him: dramatic, over-the-top, and far from the light-hearted comedy we’d all hope for.

“I do anything for love,” he mused, “but I won’t do that.”

The room chuckled, some of us groaning in recognition, but the tension broke a little. That’s one thing Nathan was good at: easing us into the hard conversations with just the right amount of humor.

Once the room settled and we all found our seats, he jumped right in.

“Alright, folks, welcome back. This is our processing session. Is there anything anyone wants to talk about today? The floor is open.”

He looked around the room, and in true Nathan fashion, caught someone’s eye.

“Chase, you made eye contact. Care to start us off?”

Chase laughed nervously, clearly having tried the “no-eye-contact” technique that never seemed to work in therapy. “I was avoiding eye contact! You caught me!”

“Well, here we are,” Nathan grinned. “The spotlight is yours. Share whatever’s on your mind.”

Chase shifted in their seat, then sighed. “I’ve been feeling a lot of pressure from my family to follow in their footsteps career-wise, but it’s not what I want. I’ve been trying to set boundaries around my choices, but they keep pushing.”

As Chase continued, I could feel the weight of their words settling over the room. We’d all been there in some way or another, trying to protect ourselves from the people who should, in theory, be the most supportive. Nathan listened intently, nodding along as Chase shared how they wanted to confront their family, to set boundaries, but didn’t know if they had the strength to follow through.

“It sounds like the pressure to meet their expectations is really weighing on you. Do they understand how much this is affecting you?”

“I don’t think they do. Every time I bring it up, they dismiss my feelings and act like I’m being ungrateful.”

“And on top of that,” Nathan continued, “you’re worried about how your dad will react, because you know he has a way of turning everything into a big deal

“Exactly,” Chase said. “He always makes it about him. I don’t even know how to start that conversation without him blowing up.”

Nathan leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “It sounds like there’s a lot of anxiety about what might happen if you assert your boundaries. So, let’s talk about that. What’s your plan?”

Chase hesitated. “I’ve been working on a script with Carrie—something I can say to everyone right before we open presents, so I don’t have to keep having individual conversations. But even with the script, I’m worried my anxiety will get in the way.”

Nathan nodded. “It’s great that you have a plan, and it’s normal to feel anxious about setting boundaries, especially with family. But you don’t have to face this alone. What kind of support can we offer here in the group?”

I watched as a few people began to speak, offering encouragement and advice. One woman shared how she had coached her friend to calmly but firmly assert his boundaries, reminding him that if people didn’t respect it, he didn’t have to respond.

“That’s something I really struggle with,” Chase admitted. “Being firm. I get so anxious that I end up letting things slide.”

“You can be firm,” the woman said kindly. “It’s a skill you’ll develop with practice, but it’s definitely possible. Just keep reminding yourself that you deserve respect.”

Nathan jumped back in, reinforcing the point. “It’s okay to feel anxious, but don’t let that stop you from protecting your peace. You have every right to set boundaries, and guess what? ‘No’ is a complete sentence.”

Chase laughed softly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Absolutely. And here’s the thing about boundaries—they’re for you, not for anyone else. They’re about protecting your energy and your mental health. Your dad’s reaction? That’s on him, not you. You can guide people, but you can’t control them. And that’s okay.”

The conversation shifted a bit, and Nathan started sketching on the whiteboard, his go-to pyramid diagram that he used for everything from emotional regulation to problem-solving. “This is what I call our zone of control,” he said, pointing to the largest part of the pyramid. “The biggest area is what we can control: our thoughts, our actions, how we respond. The next level is where we can influence others, but we don’t have control over their reactions. And the top part? That’s what we can’t control at all—other people’s feelings, reactions, or behaviors. You focus on what’s in your control, and let go of the rest.”

Chase nodded, taking it all in. “That makes sense. I’ll try to remember that when I’m talking to my family.”

The conversation flowed naturally after that. Different people shared stories about their own struggles with boundaries, families, and navigating the holiday season. One person mentioned how they’d decided to take a step back from certain toxic relationships, choosing to prioritize their mental health over keeping the peace. Another talked about how they’d managed to find small moments of joy amidst the chaos by focusing on what they could control, rather than stressing over what they couldn’t.

As I sat there, listening, I couldn’t help but think about how much I related to everything being said. But for me, this wasn’t about personal relationships—it was about work. Boundaries? Never been my strong suit in the office. I’d spent so much of my career trying to be a team player, bending over backward to make sure everyone else was comfortable, even when it was at my own expense. It was exhausting. I’d say yes to projects I didn’t have the bandwidth for, stay late because no one else would, and let people talk to me any kind of way because I didn’t want to make waves.

Nathan must have noticed I was deep in thought because he suddenly turned to me. “You’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, I’m just processing.”

I know, a bit on the nose.

He smiled knowingly. “Care to share with the group? No pressure, but I think your insight could help a lot.”

I hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I’ve been thinking about what everyone’s been saying about boundaries. It’s hard, you know? Setting boundaries with people at work, especially when they’re used to you not having any, to you always going above and beyond. There’s always that fear that they won’t respect it, and then you’re left wondering if you should’ve said anything at all.”

Nathan nodded. “It’s definitely tough. But what’s harder—setting the boundary, or living with the resentment of not having set it?”

“That’s the thing,” I replied. “I’ve been on both sides of that fence, and neither feels great. But I guess… I guess I’m starting to see that not setting boundaries only makes things worse in the long run. It’s like you said earlier: we can’t control how people react, but we can control how we respond. And I think I’ve been avoiding that responsibility for a long time.”

“That’s a powerful realization,” Nathan said. “And it’s a huge step forward.”

The room was quiet for a moment, and then Nathan, sensing the heaviness of the conversation, shifted the energy again. “Alright, folks, before we wrap up for the night, I want to leave you with a question. It’s a bit of a reflection exercise.”

He paused dramatically, as if waiting for us to brace ourselves.

“What are you hoping for in the new year?”

There it was—the question that always comes up in therapy around this time of year. The one that makes you think about all the things you want to change, but haven’t quite figured out how. I wasn’t sure I had an answer yet.

Nathan looked around the room, waiting. Finally, someone spoke up. “I just want to get my life back on track. I feel like I’ve been stuck in this funk for so long, and I don’t know how to pull myself out of it.”

Nathan smiled gently. “That’s a great start. And here’s the thing—hope isn’t something you can give or take away. It’s something you cultivate for yourself. So what can you do, right now, to start moving toward that?”

There was a thoughtful pause before they replied, “I guess… I can start by being kinder to myself. By not expecting everything to change overnight.”

Nathan nodded approvingly. “Exactly. One step at a time. And remember, we’re in this together. This group is here to support you, no matter how long it takes.”

As session two of three wrapped up, I found myself reflecting on Nathan’s words. Hope is something we build for ourselves, and boundaries are a way of protecting that hope. It’s not easy, but it’s necessary. And maybe, just maybe, I was starting to see how all of this was connected—how the process of healing, of setting boundaries, of choosing hope, was all part of the same journey.

Maybe that’s why I was here. Not just to face the reality of my own mental health, but to learn how to protect it, to build a stronger foundation for myself moving forward.