It All Started With a Hike

It started with a hike.

Just me and two other women.

No big vision. No plan. We just picked a trail and went.

I had already been hiking for years. Being outside was one of the few places where my mind could quiet down. But I kept noticing the same thing every time I went out.

I didn’t see many people who looked like me.

Especially not Black women.

And I got it.

The woods don’t feel neutral for us. There’s history there. There are safety concerns. And when you don’t see yourself in a space, it doesn’t exactly feel like it’s yours.

So that day, it was just three of us.

We walked. We talked.

And something shifted.

It felt easy.

There was room to breathe. Nobody was trying to be anything. Nobody was managing themselves. We were just… there.

As I kept going, I started to realize something about myself.

I’ve always valued freedom.

I didn’t learn that. That’s just how I am.

I’ve never been good at shrinking myself to fit into what makes other people comfortable. And while that’s something I stand on, it hasn’t always made relationships easy.

Because most of us have been taught how to maintain relationships, not how to build real ones.

We learn what not to do. Don’t be too much. Don’t say too much. Don’t expect too much.

So we adjust. We hold things in. We try to get it “right.”

And that creates distance.

For a long time, it felt like I had to choose. Be fully myself or be connected to people.

I don’t believe that anymore.

Real connection requires freedom.

At the same time, I couldn’t ignore what I was seeing around me.

Black women are not okay.

That’s not dramatic. That’s real.

About 1 in 5 Black adults experiences a mental health condition each year, and most aren’t getting support. More than half of Black women say stress is affecting their health.

You can feel it here in Grand Rapids.

Black people make up close to 18 percent of the population, but spaces that actually center Black women in a real way are hard to find. Not just spaces where we’re included. Spaces where we’re understood.

Where we don’t have to explain everything.

Where we’re not being watched.

Where we’re not being corrected.

Because most of us are moving through life constantly adjusting. Code switching. Paying attention to how we’re coming across.

That does something to you.

You don’t fully relax. You don’t fully rest.

And the truth is, we bring that into our relationships with each other too.

We’ve all been shaped by the same pressure.

Be strong. Be easy. Don’t be too much.

So even with other Black women, we can still hold back.

Still filter ourselves.

Still perform.

Not because we want to, but because that’s what we’ve learned.

But if everyone is performing, nobody is actually being seen.

What I started to notice on those hikes was different.

I remember one moment clearly.

We were walking and the conversation shifted. One woman started talking about how tired she was. Not just physically. Everything.

Another woman said, “I didn’t even realize how much I needed this.”

Nobody tried to fix it. Nobody brushed it off.

We just stayed there with her.

And something opened up.

That’s what made it click for me.

This wasn’t about hiking.

It was about space.

Real space.

Space where you can say you’re not okay and not feel like you’re about to lose people because of it.

Space where you can talk about what hurts and not be judged.

Space where you don’t have to hold it together.

Because the whole “strong Black woman” thing… it’s not always true.

Sometimes we’re tired. Sometimes we’re hurting.

And we shouldn’t have to hide that just to stay connected.

We need real support.

We need real community.

That’s how Black Girl Joy started.

As a hiking group.

But it didn’t stay that.

Because it was never really about the trail.

It’s about creating spaces where Black women don’t have to perform to belong.

Where you can be yourself. Fully.

Where you can rest.

Where you can be honest.

Where you can be met with understanding instead of judgment.

Because when that happens, things shift.

Connection feels real.

Joy feels possible.

And healing actually starts.

This isn’t an idea.

It’s something we’re building. In real life.

A place where Black women can finally exhale.