By: Terry Allen
Before she was our “Big Mama,” Lucille Allen was simply a woman who showed up—every day, no excuses. She was a mother, a steady hand, and a living reminder that resilience isn’t something we stumble into; it’s something we inherit. Her life echoed a truth many later put into words: You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.
For her generation, that strength meant navigating segregation, limited access, and daily disrespect with dignity intact. Today, strength is still being demanded—but the pressure comes dressed differently.
We’re living in a moment where everything is on display and nothing feels resolved. A pandemic rewired how we connect. Social media keeps trauma on a constant loop. Every video, headline, policy shift, or comment section reminds Black men that we are expected to absorb shock without flinching. One week it’s another viral police encounter. The next it’s rollbacks on equity, book bans, or attacks on how—and whether—our stories should even be told. The cycle never pauses long enough for healing.
This is the current reality: a Black man can be a provider, a leader, a mentor, and still be told—implicitly or explicitly—that his pain needs to stay quiet so he doesn’t make anyone uncomfortable. We’re praised for being “strong,” but rarely asked if we’re okay. That unspoken expectation creates an invisible ache—a cumulative weight that doesn’t come from weakness, but from carrying too much for too long.
Big Mama knew something we can’t afford to forget: strength was never meant to be a solo assignment.
She taught us that real strength shows up when you admit the load is heavy. When you call your brother instead of scrolling past another headline. When you pray, talk, cry, or sit in silence with someone who understands without explanation. Community wasn’t optional—it was survival.
In a time when we are more connected than ever yet lonelier than we’ve been in decades, Big Mama’s lesson still stands. Strength isn’t silent suffering. Strength is choosing to heal out loud. Strength is refusing to confuse endurance with wholeness.
And strength—real strength—is remembering we were never meant to carry this alone.
Terry Allen is an NABJ award-winning Journalist, DEI expert, PR professional, and founder of the charity – Vice President at Focus- PR, Founder of City Men Cook, and Dallas Chapter President of NBPRS.org
