Black Excellence, But at What Cost?

Dearest Black girls, the system is rigged, so live the fullest lives you can and do whatever you damn well please. Signed, Big Cousin Tina.

It hardly needs saying at this point, but I’ll say it as a reminder: to get ahead within this capitalist, patriarchal framework in the West, which is centred on and built around whiteness and white privilege, a privilege that ensures whiteness advances, as a Black woman who benefits neither from patriarchy nor from whiteness, you are at a particular disadvantage. By now, we should all be familiar with the concept of intersectionality and the ways in which both womanhood and Blackness can be disenfranchising. If you don’t know, please google.

And because we have always known this, in order to navigate the system, many of us resort to code-switching, to conforming, to stripping away parts of ourselves in order to mimic whiteness as closely as possible. But whiteness is an idea, a curated way of being. It does not come naturally, not even to most white people I know. Stay with me.

The reason why a lot of white working-class people often become defensive when white privilege is mentioned, is because to them, it feels as though their struggles are being ignored. It feels as though we are saying they are all privileged simply because they are white, even when their lived experience does not reflect that. And I get that.

What I have observed, however, is this: the version of 'whiteness' that sets the standard for how the rest of us are expected to behave in order to be seen as acceptable or deserving of power is modelled on a middle- and upper-class, elitist code of conduct. It goes deeper than skin colour. Social class matters immensely.

But here’s where the experiences diverge. While white working-class people may not feel privileged by their whiteness, they still have the opportunity to access that privilege.

There comes a point when some realise that by altering how they speak, dress, and carry themselves, and by socialising among certain types of people, they can gain access to spaces that were previously closed off. In these moments, whiteness functions as a key, a kind of access pass. But beyond surface-level adjustments, some come to understand that true access often lies in upholding the status quo. By distancing themselves from the realities of exclusion, or by pretending not to notice it at all, they signal compliance.

So, in this respect, our parents were right when they told us as children, “Do not watch your white friends. You need to work ten times harder.” Because even if those white friends do not feel privileged at the time, once they learn how to perform the 'act' of whiteness in the right way, doors will open for them much more easily. They are more likely to be selected in job interviews and other opportunities because the system sees them as naturally belonging.

It is not that you are not as intelligent as they are. It is not that you lack motivation or ability. It is often simply because your face does not fit, and so that upward trajectory becomes less linear. If you want to excel, you push yourself beyond reason. You work ten times as hard as your white colleagues. And you leave your real self at home.

The psychological toll this takes over time does not need to be studied. It is obvious. The impact on your well-being is enormous. Yet these organisations, while championing ideas of “equality” and “diversity”, continue to uphold the very status quo that does you harm. And the truth is, even if they are aware of the harm, they usually do not care.

But the pressure isn't solely external. Somewhere along the way, we also became burdened by the label of “Black excellence”. This supposedly inspirational term that many of us chase. At first glance, it appears empowering. It sounds like something to take pride in. But in many ways, I believe it has had the opposite effect. Rather than encouraging us, it has added another layer of pressure. What does Black excellence really mean? Does it mean being one of the few who accomplish something remarkable? Or does it mean doing something that white people have the benefit of easily achieving, but because we have always had to work harder just to be acknowledged, our survival and success in that space becomes extraordinary?

To walk into an organisation of white people who can afford to be mediocre and be seen as the standout, the “inspiration”, is absurd. Absolutely ridiculous. And it is perfectly fine to say, “I do not want that.” It is acceptable to reject the constant striving and the emotionally exhausting performance. Because life does not have to revolve around “excellence”. Nor should it be solely about survival.

There is a middle ground, a sweet spot, where you are not hustling to prove your humanity, but you are not barely making it either. Let me be clear: I am not discouraging anyone from working hard to achieve their dreams, because that is important. But so is your mental health.

If you know me, then you will know how much I have changed in recent years, especially after the birth of my son. Now, comfortably in my thirties, I often reflect in economic terms, I find myself pondering on the opportunity cost of things. What does the pursuit of this unfair, unstable ladder do to my well-being? What does it do to my mental health? What does it do to my sense of worth and the way I define success?

So many of the things we strive for are rooted in societal expectations or in the values our families have instilled in us. We are surrounded by other people’s definitions, goals, and standards, to the point where we lose ourselves. Many of us have never truly considered what success and happiness look like on our own terms. We simply follow a predetermined path, forgetting that we are individuals on unique life journeys, and our successes and failures, and everything in between, should reflect who we are, not who they expect us to be.

When I first entered the world of education, I aspired to become a headteacher one day. I no longer want that. To be completely honest, at this point in my life, I do not care for any of it. Because the truth is, I only pursued that goal in the first place because, coming from an African family, you are always expected to excel to the very top of whatever career you choose. Be the head and never the tail and all that crap.

But at some point in my thirties, for the sake of my mental health, I opted out. I made a decision: I have a financial benchmark that will sustain me and bring me contentment. I own my own home, which brings me peace. I am fortunate enough to travel two or three times a year. I can take my child on holidays whenever I choose. I am comfortable, and that is enough.

I do not need to earn a six-figure salary. I do not need to push myself to prove my worth within a system that constantly demands more from me, while simultaneously questioning my credentials because I am Black, and more specifically, because I am a Black woman. I do not need to endure that in order to feel successful or to feel that I have “arrived”.

But I recognise that many other Black women are still pursuing that dream, and that is absolutely fine. I only ask that Black women and girls consider the mental toll and the invisible tax that comes with that type of labour.

What are you doing it for? What is the end goal? What are you gaining from it?

If you can answer those questions with confidence and feel at peace with your answers, and if you do not feel that your mental health is being compromised, then absolutely go for it. But if something within you feels off, if the cost is too great for your spirit and your sanity, then please consider how you might pivot. How you might choose a path that is calmer, one that does not require you to sacrifice your soul in exchange.

Because as much as they would like us to believe that living that life—the one glamorised on social media and promoted as the ultimate aspiration—is everything...

Your peace is worth more than any title. And your full, authentic self is already enough.