“I consider myself a courageous leader not only because I give so much of myself to the world, but because I made a decision to turn my pain into power. Through that power I found my God-given purpose. Most importantly, I kept hope alive!” writes Kenidra Woods for Ourselves Black.
As I speak with the mental health and gun control activist via Zoom, it is clear to me that Woods is inarguably walking in her purpose. She speaks candidly about her mental health journey, and by her affectionate yet firm tone, any listener would be able to tell that she is deeply passionate about her work. Woods-Carey has the self-assuredness and capacity for empathy of someone 20 years her senior, and it’s nothing short of awe-inspiring. Our 30-minute conversation feels like a much-needed warm embrace, and I’m left feeling hopeful for the future, knowing that young leaders like Woods will be leading it.
The St. Louis native is no stranger to activism. Woods began her activism journey when she was 13 years old, after the death of Michael Brown, an unarmed Black teenager who was fatally shot in 2014 by white police officer Darren Wilson in Ferguson, Missouri––just 12 miles from Woods hometown. Since then, she has made activism her life’s mission. Her Hope for Humanity Project: National Rally for Peace, which she launched in St. Louis in June 2018, featured a diverse group of speakers––including Congresswoman Cori Bush––all with the goal of starting a conversation around gun violence by sharing their personal experiences. “Our mission is to connect an inclusive and intersectional coalition of passionate individuals to build a united community and to promote hope and peace as the norm not the exception,” reads the event’s Facebook page.
As a survivor of sexual abuse that took an immense toll on her mental health, Woods launched the CHEETAH Movement when she was 15 to help other survivors of abuse and those struggling with mental illness. CHEETAH—which stands for Confidence, Harmony, Enlightenment, Encouragement, Tranquility, Awareness, and Hope—is on a mission to remove the shame and stigma around mental health, especially in the Black community, and to inspire more people to get the help they need. According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, despite the mental health needs of Black adults in the U.S.—who are more likely to report persistent feelings of emotional distress compared with their white counterparts—only one in three receive the mental health care they need.
In her interview with MISSION, Woods recounts the events that led her to start the CHEETAH Movement, discusses why it’s important to start a conversation around mental health in the Black community, offers some self-care tips for activists, and shares what she plans to do next to continue to keep hope alive.
NAYDELINE MEJIA: Your work is incredible. Can you tell me more about CHEETAH and what inspired you to start that movement?
KENIDRA WOODS: I was around 15 years old, and before the idea for CHEETAH even came about, I had been struggling a lot with my mental health. I had been in and out of hospitals; I had been transferred to a residential facility after leaving a psych ward because I was told I wasn’t yet fit to be around my family and needed 24-hour supervision. After I left the residential facility, I kind of just sat with myself and asked, “Do I want to continue living my life this way?” I had been staying at psychiatric facilities for much of my teen years, and I was tired of that being my life. I felt like I wasn’t enjoying my teen years because I was going through these struggles with depression and self-harm. After going through these dark periods on my own, I just had the idea that maybe I could help somebody else who was going through similar struggles. I doubted myself at first and thought, “How could I do that?” I believed that no one would listen to me because I was in a bad mental state at the time, and I had been through all of these terrible things, but I just put the idea out into the universe.
As for the name CHEETAH, the cheetah is one of my favorite animals. I’m also a big fan of cheetah print, but beyond that, I just think cheetahs are so majestic, brave, and fearless; they’re also really fast and determined to go after their prey, so that really resonated with me. After I got set on the word “cheetah,” I started to think of acronyms, because I didn’t want it to just be Cheetah—I wanted the word to have meaning behind it. I came up with Confidence, Harmony, Enlightenment, Encouragement, Tranquility, Awareness, and Hope. I think those words fit so perfectly with the mission, because talking about mental health can be such a difficult conversation for some people, and I wanted the movement to have a title that would motivate, help, and inspire others to speak out.
With CHEETAH, I started by telling my own story, and then I created a blog where people could share their own mental health battles through whatever medium they preferred––music, poetry, dance. It was really cool to see all of these stories, because my goal was to create something that would engage people. I didn’t want to be the only one speaking on mental health; I wanted to pull people in and let them know this isn’t just for me, this is for you too. Yes, running this project might be helping me heal, but this movement is for everybody.
The reason this movement is so important to me is because I wish somebody would’ve done this sooner. Not to toot my own horn—toot-toot! [laughs]—but I wish I would’ve had someone like me when I was going through these struggles as a teenager. I wish I had somebody who was there for me like that 15-year-old girl who was there for everyone else. My plan with CHEETAH was to be an advocate and a listening ear for others, even if it was just one person. Those years I spent at facilities and before that, just battling with my mental health and navigating trauma, it was such a lonely phase of my life, and I never want to see anyone go through what I’ve gone through, especially not someone I know. Struggling with your mental health is already really hard, but navigating those feelings on your own because you don’t feel like you have anyone to turn to is even harder. I felt as though my biological family didn’t understand what I was going through because mental illness is highly stigmatized in the Black community––it’s seen as something shameful. There’s a lot of messaging around Black people having to be “strong.” They’ll say, “We’re too strong to struggle with this. You need to toughen up. You need to have thicker skin.” Some people don’t even really believe in mental health care, and I feel like maybe if someone close to me had taken my mental health seriously, then I wouldn’t have struggled as much as I did. Growing up, I really internalized my family’s beliefs on mental health. I didn’t challenge those beliefs when I was younger, and I wish that maybe I had, but I’m never going to beat myself up about it.
“I think it really took me going through my own struggles for my family to realize that mental illness is a real thing.”
NM: Of course not. You were young. How could you have known? We can’t blame ourselves as children for not yet having a grasp on the concepts that the adults in our lives should’ve been teaching us about.
KW: Yeah, I just think sometimes, what if I had challenged those beliefs when I was younger? Maybe I could’ve opened up their eyes and prepared them for when I was going through those struggles myself.
NM: I love how you touched on the stigma surrounding mental health in the Black community, because that’s my next question. Your essay in Ourselves Black talks about the stereotype of the “strong Black woman” and how religion is often used as a Band-Aid to avoid mental health discussions. What can be done to combat these stigmas in the Black community? How do we even start a conversation with our family members about mental health?
KW: I think it really took me going through my own struggles for my family to realize that mental illness is a real thing, and mental health care is important. At first, they were very critical of my experience, but then they came around and kind of said, “OK, she’s dealing with this, so it has to be a real thing.” Seeing me go through what I went through, especially for such a long period of time, offered them some perspective. It’s not as simple as me having “a bad day” or just being “sad.” It’s not a “phase,” so they can’t just tell me to toughen up or be “stronger.” They didn’t tell me their perspectives had changed, but I noticed it. I noticed that they were more willing to know about my struggles and learn more about the topic of mental health.
As for opening up this discussion within the Black community, I think it will be uncomfortable at first, but you just have to go straight into it, because there’s been so much sugarcoating and beating around the bush on this topic. The false belief that this doesn’t exist is constantly being spread, and there are attempts to just put religion over the top of it. There are so many factors stopping these conversations from happening, but for me personally, I just went into the conversation openly and honestly. Once you start talking about it, then people think, “Oh, OK, I’m not alone in this” and “I’m not weak for feeling this way.” I took that step and took a leap of faith because I feel like if I hadn’t, then I probably wouldn’t have come this far in my mental health journey. If I didn’t break the cycle and start that conversation, who would have? No one was at the point in their life––not just in my family but in the Black community around me—where they wanted to admit that they were suffering or even cared to speak out about it. So, I just thought, “If I do not put my voice out there, if I do not speak out first, who will?” And that pushed me to start the conversation around me.
I get a lot of DMs from young women and men in the Black community, and they’re just so thankful for my voice. Mental health struggles are so stigmatized and viewed as shameful to speak about in this community that young people are afraid to say something because they don’t want to be judged. People often say insensitive things too, and it doesn’t come from a place of cruelty but a place of ignorance. It’s not like, “Oh, I know this is a thing, and I’m going to be mean to you because of it.” It’s pure ignorance––they just don’t know.
It’s really important that we take steps to dismantle those beliefs. I’m really glad I did speak out, because if I hadn’t, then I don’t know where I would be right now.
NM: It’s so important to speak openly about mental health, because mental battles can feel like such solitary experiences when you’re in them. When you’re going through depression or anxiety or some other mental challenge, you feel so alone in your feelings, so it helps when someone shares their own personal experience, sort of saying, “Me too.” Unfortunately, there are immense obstacles in place that bar many people, especially BIPOC folks, from receiving the mental health care they need in the U.S. and in much of the world. In your opinion, why is mental health care so important?
KW: Mental health care is important because everyone deserves to have access to those resources, and receiving adequate care gives people a sense of belonging. It’s so easy to get discouraged when you aren’t able to get the treatment you need for your mental health. You start to think, “Well, I tried and I keep getting knocked back down, so why try at all?” Then you just descend into this downward spiral. The lack of mental health resources and education just adds to the stigmatization of mental illness, which is counterproductive to the goal we’re trying to achieve. I feel like mental health care is a basic necessity, because your mental health is just as important as your physical health. If you’re not mentally well, that can literally reflect on you physically––whether it’s fainting from stress, or in more extreme cases, having a seizure. Poor mental health can take a toll on your body and affect how you’re able to function day to day. How can you perform well at school or work if you’re struggling mentally? It’s all interconnected, and if one puzzle piece falls, or one aspect of your life is not taken care of, then the whole system fails.
“I really try to give myself permission to go offline, and I remind myself that not responding to a message does not mean I don’t care—I just need some time to be present.”
NM: Do you have any tips for how we can advocate for more mental health care resources and access in vulnerable communities?
KW: I have worked with many different mental health organizations, and I have fundraised with many organizations as well, and I think those are great ways to spark change. Not everyone is going to be moved by just one person’s argument, but if a group of passionate people get together to fight for a common goal, then people are more likely to listen. Sometimes I do feel like a whisper in the wind, like I’m not really getting through to people, so connecting with different organizations and advocates like myself is very helpful for getting my message across. And as fundraising is not my expertise, I do seek a lot of advice and gain a lot of knowledge from people who are educated in that area. It’s just nice to get together with others to try to initiate change and get done what we need to get done at the same time.
NM: Activism can be physically, emotionally, and mentally taxing. As an activist, what are your current self-care practices? Can you offer some self-care tips to your peers in the mental health space?
KW: Oh, yes, I have quite a few! I’d say the number one thing I try to do when it comes to self-care—to recoup and recharge—is unplug. I try to avoid looking at DMs that concern my work, especially on the weekends. As someone with an online presence, it’s so easy to not cut off that part of my life, because I think, “Oh, they need help!” or “This is a very important call. How can I say no to it?” I feel bad whenever I don’t respond to certain types of messages, but I also understand that if I’m not well myself, then how can I go out and be a voice for other people? So, I try to be very intentional about my social media usage. Instead of going on Instagram, I’ll usually power off my phone, go for a walk, or journal about how my week has been. I feel like I pull myself out of the activism world sometimes because it can be so mentally draining to always be “on” and to be that go-to person for somebody else. I really try to give myself permission to go offline, and I remind myself that not responding to a message does not mean I don’t care—I just need some time to be present with myself before I can log back on and fully immerse myself back into this work.
I’ve also been thinking, “How do I see myself outside of this world?” At times I feel as though I lose myself in activism and I start to believe that without this work, I am nothing. I really ruminate on that messaging and get stuck in my head about it, but I’ve been working on challenging those thoughts and I remind myself, “No, I am somebody. My activism is a part of me, but I am somebody outside of this work.” So, when I have those moments of self-doubt, I know it’s time to take a break. It’s nice to have those moments alone too, because sometimes I get peopled out.
I’m also learning not to force myself into projects or opportunities that I’m not really passionate about. Because I am such a passionate person, when I’m not all in, or when I’m doing something to please people and not because I’m truly interested in it, it shows.
For activists out there, I would just advise you to be real, be true to yourself. If you ever have the thought that you’re not important, that without your activism your life has no meaning, I would challenge that thought and maybe take a step back to reevaluate yourself and your values. I’m not saying that activism is not for you, but maybe you should take a step back and ask yourself, “Why do I feel this way?”
NM: It’s really important that you say that, because I feel like in the society we live in, a lot of our self-worth is attached to our ability to produce things and bring something to the table. It’s important to remember that you are worthy regardless. Even if you are unproductive all day and do nothing for the rest of your life, your life still matters.
KW: Yes! Your life is valid regardless.
NM: Exactly! So, what’s next for you? What do you have planned for yourself in the near future? Where do you hope to take CHEETAH next?
KW: After speaking with many different activists and organizations in this space, I’ve been thinking about taking this movement into schools. I just really want to bring mental health education onto campuses by incorporating CHEETAH into educational programs. Even before the pandemic, mental health was important, but it’s especially vital now after all the hardships we’ve been through. And as schools reopen, I think that students could really benefit from learning more about mental health.
Overall, I just want to keep spreading the message that there’s nothing wrong with struggling with your mental health, and we could all benefit from more open and honest conversations.
Taken from our BIPOC issue, this interview has been edited for length and clarity. Images Courtesy of Kenidra Woods.
