The Invisible Black Woman

We live in a culture that celebrates exposure. We’re told that being real means being open. That honesty requires transparency. That if something matters, it should be shared widely and often. But that way of thinking flattens something important: not all truths are meant for public consumption.

Some truths need protection.

“I choose where my truth lives” is a declaration of agency. It’s a reminder that you are not obligated to make your experiences available to everyone who asks or everyone who watches. You get to decide which parts of your life are shared, and which are held privately.

This matters deeply for Black women. Our stories are often treated as public resources: lessons to be learned from, content to be consumed, evidence to be examined. We’re encouraged to explain ourselves constantly, to translate our boundaries, to justify our silence.

But silence is not dishonesty.

Sometimes silence is discernment. Sometimes it’s care. Sometimes it’s the recognition that a space is not equipped to hold what you’ve lived through.

Choosing where your truth lives means understanding context. It means knowing that the same truth can be healing in one space and harmful in another. That some people seek your truth not to understand you, but to access you.

And access is not a right.

There’s a difference between being open and being available. Between honesty and overexposure. Between sharing and self-erasure. Integrity lives in that difference.

You don’t need to explain every decision. You don’t need to narrate every boundary. You don’t need to justify your quiet.

Some truths are still becoming. Some are still tender. Some are complete but not meant to be revisited publicly. You’re allowed to let those truths live in journals, in trusted conversations, in prayer, in reflection—or simply within yourself.

Truth doesn’t demand an audience. It demands respect.

And choosing where your truth lives doesn’t make you guarded, it makes you grounded. It means you’re no longer outsourcing your sense of legitimacy to how others receive your story.

You can be honest without being exposed. You can be authentic without being accessible. You can be truthful without being transparent to everyone.

That’s not hiding. That’s self-trust.

So if you’re holding something close right now, something you’re not ready to explain or share, honor that. Let it live where it’s safe. Let it grow without interference. Let it remain yours.

You choose where your truth lives. And that choice is part of your integrity.

Until next time, I wish you nothing but sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns, which are no less fictitious than the self-led creature you are.