The War Inside: Living Through the Highs and Lows While Black in America

The War Inside: Living Through the Highs and Lows While Black in America

By Lẹwa Ubunifu

There’s a war going on inside me again. A war I didn’t start. A war I didn’t ask for. A war I fight every single day just to make it to the next.

“I feel a war going on inside again... it's nothing new, I know I'm stuck in my mind again.”

– Rare of Breed, "Highs and Lows"

Rare of Breed spoke the words I’ve struggled to say out loud. Because that’s exactly what it feels like when you're doing everything in your power to stay afloat—and still, somehow, the world is asking you to swim harder. It’s especially true when you’re Black. When you’re a Black woman. When you have to be exceptional just to be acknowledged.

You’re not allowed to just be. Not allowed to be soft. Not allowed to be angry. Not allowed to be tired. Not allowed to be average. You have to prove yourself at least 300% just to be seen.

And the sickest part? We’ve been conditioned to do it.

The article from the Nonprofit Quarterly (https://nonprofitquarterly.org/the-tightrope-of-excellence-black-women-and-authenticity/) put into words what so many of us experience but rarely have the safety to name: that balancing act we perform every single day—the tightrope between being real and being employable, between being ourselves and being acceptable.

We wear the mask. We code-switch. We overcompensate. And yet we still get passed over, still get labeled “too much” or “not enough.” It’s a cycle. A setup. A scam.

Sometimes the storm of it all rises so high, I can't breathe.

“I feel the pressure from the storm is rising up. Why do I question when I feel like I'm not enough?”

You ever feel that? That flood of inadequacy? That deep, lingering ache that makes you want to scream but all you can do is sigh?

Because even when we achieve—degrees, promotions, leadership roles—we are never given room to fail. Not the way others are. When a white man stumbles, it's seen as a growth opportunity. When a Black woman stumbles, we are a liability. The same article said Black women are more likely to be blamed when an organization falters. So what do we do? We grind harder, hustle longer, push past the breaking point. Then they ask us why we didn't pick up the phone.

“They asking me why I don't pick up the phone. It's hard to talk about.”

Sometimes, I also don't even want to leave the house. Not because I’m lazy, but because the weight of the world out there feels like too much. The small talk, the stares, the pretending—it’s exhausting. Some days I barely have the energy to pretend I’m okay. I bury it, just like the song says, because that’s what we’ve been taught: to hide the hurt, to silence the pain, to “tough it out.” But it never really goes away—it just sits there, waiting. The anxiety, the sadness, the dread. It’s a cycle I know all too well. And the worst part? I never know when it’s going to hit again. I just know it will.

How do I explain that I’m exhausted from smiling through soul-deep pain? How do I explain that I can’t talk because if I start, I might never stop crying? How do I explain that existing in this country as a Black woman is a constant state of tension—between authenticity and survival?

This isn’t just mental illness. It’s social sickness. It’s institutional, systemic, generational exhaustion. The kind that starts before you even open your mouth.

And so we find our own ways to cope. We create. We pray. We journal. We cry in the car. We listen to music that gets it. That tells the truth we’ve been forced to silence. That’s why “Highs and Lows” hit so hard. Because it’s not just about being sad. It’s about carrying a war inside while the world expects you to dance.

And yet—still—we rise.

Because this war isn’t new. Since the late 1800s, Black women have been creating our own sanctuaries to protect and preserve ourselves from a society that refuses to see us. BWJP’s article (https://bwjp.org/black-women-a-history-of-creating-our-own-spaces/) reminds us of how we formed clubs, schools, mutual benefit societies, and entire movements—because no one else was going to do it for us.

We built what didn’t exist. We made room for each other when the world slammed every door shut. And we are still doing it today.

And yet, even in those spaces, we still struggle to feel safe and whole. Carrington Cline’s essay (https://womenscenter.umbc.edu/post/138232/) pierced through me when she wrote:

“I feel as though this need for validation comes from the fact that women of color aren’t allowed to feel confident about or secure in themselves.”

That hit me like a gut punch. Because it's true. Even in spaces where we’ve fought to belong, we still feel like we have to prove our humanity. Our softness. Our pain. Our worth.

The NBC article (https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/black-women-struggle-find-way-job-world-diversity-attack-rcna141646) exposed just how fragile “diversity” really is. When the tides turn, Black women are the first to be silenced and the last to be protected. We're offered visibility without safety, representation without respect.

It’s no wonder we have these wars inside. No wonder we question if we’re enough.

But let me be clear—we are. We always have been.

Even when we're weary. Even when we break down. Even when the highs and lows feel like they’re going to swallow us whole.

We are still here.

We are still worthy.

We are still powerful.

We are not weak because we feel. We are not failures because we need rest. We are not broken because we cry. Those tears? Those are sacred. That war inside you? It’s proof that you haven’t given up.

So if you’re reading this and you’re in the thick of it—if your smile is a mask, if your heart is heavy, if you feel like no one sees you—I do. I see you. And I’m with you.

This is our reminder:

You don’t have to carry it all.

You don’t have to win every battle.

You just have to keep going.

Let God take what you can’t hold anymore. Let the music speak for you when the words won’t come. Let yourself rest.

You’re still enough. Even here. Even now. Especially now.

If you're feeling the weight of your own highs and lows right now, these songs may help lighten the load:

🎧 If you like "Highs and Lows" by Rare of Breed, which blends emotional vulnerability, faith, and mental health struggles with a hip-hop/Christian rap sound, here’s a song that carries a very similar vibe:

"Truth Be Told" by Matthew West

It explores the struggle of putting on a mask while hurting inside. Focuses on the internal war between who we are and who we pretend to be. Talks about God’s grace meeting us where we are. Has a catchy, emotional hook that mirrors the highs and lows.

Bonus Suggestions (same emotional/spiritual theme):

• "War Inside" – KB ft. Lecrae

• "Anxious" – NF

• "Therapy Session" – NF

• "Clear the Heir" – Rare of Breed

• "I'll Find You" – Lecrae ft. Tori Kelly

• "Fighting Myself" – GAWVI

• "God Only Knows" – for KING & COUNTRY

• "Lay It Down" – Bizzle ft. Datin

• "Prayin'" – Social Club Misfits

• "Good Enough" – Zauntee

• "Dear God" – Dax

• "Broken Vessels (Amazing Grace)" – Hillsong Worship

• "Never Fold" – Tedashii

If you want a full playlist built around this vibe, I’ll make it for you. Just say the word.

With love through the highs and lows,

– Lẹwa Ubunifu