In 1979, black feminist Michele Wallace presented her critique of the myth of the black superwoman. As summarized by Gabby Bess for Vice in 2015, the black superwoman is “free from weakness and pain”, possessing “an excessive amount of strength that exceeds that of white women and even most men”.
When applauding the efforts of WNBA players, there is often a tendency to present them as black superwomen. They are excellent athletes and experienced activists. They are changing the game while saving the country. They can do anything.
While they are meant to be laudatory, these exaggerated representations can tend to dehumanization, with praise for the power and balance of black WNBA players working to mask the reality and mess of their humanity.
With “Dear Black Women”, your most recent essay for The Players’ Tribune, A’ja Wilson, Las Vegas Aces striker, shares “the real A’ja ”, exposing the myth of the black superwoman and, at the same time, expanding the understanding of black women’s mental health.
”If you are here to smile @ _ajawilson22, or perfect A’ja, or curated A’ja, just click now. I’m just letting everyone know since the jump ….
But for everyone who wants the real A’ja today, let me be honest with you for a minute. ”Https://t.co/YUyr5yLShG
– The Players’ Tribune (@PlayersTribune) March 5, 2021
A’ja’s conquest and anguish
In late 2020, Wilson emerged as the model player for the WNBA.
She was the MVP of the 2020 WNBA season. She took an Aces team with no two games scheduled – Liz Cambage and Kelsey Plum – to the WNBA finals. She was a member of the WNBPA Social Justice Council. It continued to grow its base. She was a founding member of More Than a Vote.
And yes, she was honored for her alma mater, with the University of South Carolina erecting a statue to honor the player most responsible for elevating the Gamecocks women’s basketball program to perennial and preeminent power.
However, as Wilson states, “I had a hell a few months, guys. “
As awareness of mental health has expanded in recent years, both in and out of sports, it is increasingly understood that someone can succeed while experiencing mental struggles. That said, it can still be difficult to gauge how deeply someone can be struggling when they are achieving such success.
With his revelations, Wilson effectively captures the complicated coexistence of success and struggle.
Wilson writes:
I mean, what should I really feel bad about? I made it to my first WNBA final. I won the MVP trophy. They even gave his girl a statue on the campus of the University of South Carolina. A statue. In bronze. On this campus. Forever.
She continues:
Inside Wubble, I had basketball to focus on. Trying to get that title, trying to prove that the doubters were wrong about the potential of our team … it was just exhausting … I kind of forced myself dormant for everything that was going on. I think that was my way of compartmentalizing basketball versus the anguish of the news I was seeing on my phone. It was like I wasn’t fully processing the pain of it all. I was just … empty. So when I finally got out of that bubble and went back to the real world, it was like something broken. Decompression led directly to depression.
A’ja Wilson’s superhumanity
Wilson also addresses how the social expectations imposed and internalized by black women – the ideals of black superwomen – made it difficult for her to accept and admit her mental challenges.
She shares:
But I didn’t tell anyone. I hid everything from my family, even my parents, because I didn’t want them to worry about me. As black women, how many of us put on this mask every morning? It has to be perfect! You must be smiling! Has to be Strong! As black women, is it like … weakness? Weakness? we have not Time that’s why!!!
Wilson still writes:
How many of us fall into the same pattern? I mean, I have this vision for myself that I feel I should know – not as a basketball player, but as a black woman in America. How Act. I feel that I need to deal with all situations with grace, balance and positivity. I can’t let them catch me losing my temper, right? You know that A’ja will take care of your business. Don’t worry about A’ja. A’ja is good.
Although black WNBA players have stood out as superwomen, the characteristics that they are perceived as a model and, therefore, are praised, are those expected of all black women in America. As she says, “It has to be perfect! You must be smiling! Has to be Strong!”
Yes, A’ja Wilson represents the best that black women can be in America. But she also experiences the burdens that black women endure to be seen at their best.
In revealing his struggle with depression, Wilson contributes to a necessary adjustment of the impossible and mentally draining expectations imposed on black women.
She explains:
I had to accept – no, no, no, I had to to hug – the fact that the real The A’ja I am on some days is not the same A’ja that a commentator sees, or that a teammate sees, or that even my best friend sees. And alright
She continues:
At the end of the day, there are different paths to greatness. And I feel like we haven’t heard that message enough, especially as black women. You can be vulnerable and still be the MVP. You can be vulnerable and still be the CEO. You can be vulnerable and still be in the White House. You do not need to put on the mask every morning.
The impact of A’ja
By sharing his story of struggle, Wilson helps to adjust the narrative around black women in sports. Nike’s most recent advertising campaign also reflects this changed outlook. Featuring Wilson prominently, Nike celebrates black athletes with the slogan “We play for real”.
The ad ends with the words: “Did you think the story was just made? No baby, this is not magic. It is. This is the real thing. ”
Wilson and his story are also “real”.
Real. Messy. Complicated. Successful. Above. Bellow. Iconic. Emotional. Black women in America, athletes or not, also deserve to be a bit of everything.