The Golden Child Felt Dull: Healing My Childhood Trauma is Black Resistance

Harper Cooper
Sometimes the Golden Child lacks the luster of a trophy. Growing up in a divorced household, I often felt I was on the outskirts of my family. I suffered from depression, anxiety, bulimia, self-harm, and stress yet I maintained the facade of a normal, progressing teenager. While I was an Honor Roll student, played sports, and was an ideal student, I felt alienated from my peers, even though I consistently interacted with them. I carried my trauma daily, hiding it from my immediate family, and the weight became heavier and more unbearable. I could not let my pain go as it was all I knew, and I was too afraid of change.

Content Warning: eating disorders, self-harm, trauma

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Sometimes the Golden Child lacks the luster of a trophy. Growing up in a divorced household, I often felt I was on the outskirts of my family. I suffered from depression, anxiety, bulimia, self-harm, and stress yet I maintained the facade of a normal, progressing teenager. While I was an Honor Roll student, played sports, and was an ideal student, I felt alienated from my peers, even though I consistently interacted with them. I carried my trauma daily, hiding it from my immediate family, and the weight became heavier and more unbearable. I could not let my pain go as it was all I knew, and I was too afraid of change.

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When I got to college, I decided to address my mental health. I choose to attend Xavier University of Louisiana, a Historically Black College and University (HBCU). I wanted to gain a new world experience from an institution assembled for people like me. At first, I was filled with joy to be in a new space with new peers, a fresh start to my chaotic upbringing. However, as I dove deeper into my first semester of college, I realized I didn't know how to swim. I reverted back to how I was in high school, but much worse. I got a maximum of 3 hours of sleep a day, dedicated no time to my studies, and neglected my self-care and mental well-being. During my first winter break, I decided to pull myself out of the hole I had dug.  

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Until that point, I thought self-care was a face mask and your favorite movie. I did not know self-care was truly healing– discovering the root of your problems and breaking down the destructive thoughts that keep you inside your head. . I started journaling, manifesting, and affirming the standard of woman I wanted to become. My second semester was better, but I was still holding onto those destructive habits, holding back on giving  myself a chance to change.

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I believed that I had experienced enough hurt for a lifetime, and I knew that with change, I would get hurt and feel those similar emotions I did growing up. However, if I took the self-care solutions I learned, I could heal and plant that recurring trauma to blossom into growth. I learned self-care was moving forward rather than remaining stagnant. By the first semester of my second semester, I added counseling, prayer, and meditation to my self-care regimen. I understood that no matter what, I could no longer fall victim to my trauma. I told my closest friends some of my most difficult experiences, and they immediately comforted and reassured me. For the first time, I no longer needed to hide from those I loved. I could not shut myself out from society and become stronger than I was.  

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I have always been a passionate significant advocate for Black Resistance and Black Mental Health. In 2023, there are more tools available to resist race-related oppression and trauma compared to when I was younger. Although I have not experienced direct oppression as a Black woman, I feel I got the backhand of oppression and trauma because I am a Black woman. I viewed a Black woman as a powerful being who did not succumb to failure or weakness. I believed that showing weakness made you weak, and Black women could not be weak. For a long time, I went without asking for help, too scared to face the possible consequences of my self-harming actions. I was afraid to ask my family for support, thinking they would call me crazy and ship me off to a mental facility. I thought I had to do, experience, and feel everything myself, regardless of how much it took from me.  

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Watching my mother work to raise me and my siblings alone, even though my father lived in the same city, taught me that I did not need anybody to save me. I wanted to believe that by suffocating my emotions I could allow myself to breathe. I never got to experience the golden years of childhood that most would, and if I could, I would have loved and appreciated myself on a greater scale. But, I know better than to live in the past, and I want to help those who still have a chance to change their mental prerogative. Even though I wish I knew how to love and appreciate myself as a child, I am glad that I can love myself now. I have grown to love myself and my child self and put that same love into my actions. I grasp my feelings and learn to take my experiences and make them a teaching lesson rather than a battle. I hope to continue using the tools I have learned and my community involvement to break the generational trauma of society.

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