Black Maternal Mental Health: What You Need to Know

I am going to say something that makes some people uncomfortable.

Black women in the United States are not dying at three times the rate of white women because of their genetics. They are not dying because of their choices. They are dying because of a healthcare system that has consistently underestimated, underserved, and disbelieved them.

That is not an opinion. That is documented fact.

And if you are a Black woman who is pregnant, postpartum, or planning to become a mother — this information is not meant to scare you. It is meant to equip you. Because knowledge, in this case, is a form of protection.

The Numbers You Need to Know

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Black women are 2.6 times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women.¹ That number has not meaningfully improved in decades.

And it is not just about mortality. Black women are more likely to experience severe maternal morbidity — dangerous, life-threatening complications that change the course of their health and their lives.² Hemorrhage. Sepsis. Hypertensive disorders. Blood clots.

These are not random. They are preventable.

The CDC found that 84% of pregnancy-related deaths in the United States are preventable.³ That means we are not talking about inevitable tragedies. We are talking about systemic failures.

The numbers get harder when you look at who is most at risk. Black women with a college degree have worse maternal health outcomes than white women who never finished high school.⁴ Education. Income. Access to care. None of it protects Black women the way it protects white women. That is the definition of a racial equity problem.

We know Black women are not being believed when they report pain. We know implicit bias shapes clinical decision-making in ways that result in delayed care and dismissed symptoms. We know the history of medical racism in this country — from the ethical violations of J. Marion Sims to the Tuskegee study — has created a justified distrust between Black communities and the healthcare system.⁵

All of this is context. All of it matters.

Black Maternal Mental Health Is Part of This Crisis

We talk a lot about physical outcomes. We talk less about mental health.

That gap costs lives too.

Black women are less likely to be screened for perinatal mood and anxiety disorders. They are less likely to receive a referral for mental health support. They are less likely to seek treatment — not because they do not need it, but because of real and legitimate barriers: cost, stigma, cultural distrust of mental health systems, lack of Black clinicians, and a cultural narrative that tells Black women to be strong above all else.

I know this narrative. I have lived inside it.

The message Black women receive — from family, from community, from culture — is that you handle things. You carry the weight. You hold it together for everyone else. Falling apart is not an option. Asking for help is not safe.

That message has kept Black women alive in ways. It has also kept Black women sick in ways nobody talks about enough.

Here is the truth. Postpartum depression affects approximately 1 in 5 mothers.⁶ Research suggests Black mothers experience postpartum depression at rates equal to or higher than white mothers — and are significantly less likely to receive treatment.⁷ That gap is not about willingness. It is about access, trust, and a system that has not earned the right to be trusted without question.

Black women deserve clinicians who understand the intersection of race, culture, and mental health. Who do not treat their lived experience as incidental. Who know what it means to hold the complexity of loving a country that does not fully protect you.

What Implicit Bias Looks Like in Real Life

I want you to understand this not as an abstract concept but as something that may have already happened to you.

Implicit bias in healthcare looks like a nurse who waits longer to respond to a Black patient’s call button. It looks like a doctor who underestimates pain levels reported by a Black woman — research has documented that Black patients are systematically undertreated for pain compared to white patients.⁸ It looks like symptoms being dismissed as anxiety when they are actually warning signs of preeclampsia. It looks like a woman saying something is wrong and not being taken seriously until it is an emergency.

Serena Williams told her story publicly. She had a pulmonary embolism after delivering her daughter and had to advocate aggressively for her own care before she was taken seriously. She is one of the most recognizable athletes in the world. If it happened to her, it has happened to women with fewer resources and less visibility — and they did not have her platform to survive it and speak about it.

This is not about individual bad actors. This is about systemic patterns. And systemic patterns require systemic responses — and individual ones.

What You Can Do to Protect Yourself

I am a clinician, not a policy maker. I cannot fix the healthcare system in this blog post. What I can do is give you practical tools to advocate for yourself and your family.

On Strength and the Right to Need Care

There is a version of the “strong Black woman” narrative that is a gift. It is the truth of what Black women have survived and built and held together across generations. It is real. It is worth honoring.

There is also a version of that narrative that is a trap. It tells Black women that needing help is weakness. That expressing pain is a liability. That holding it together is the only acceptable response to difficulty.

I reject that version. Loudly.

Asking for mental health support is not a failure of strength. It is the exercise of it. It is the decision to treat yourself with the same care and urgency you extend to everyone else in your life.

You are allowed to not be okay.

You are allowed to need support, rest, grief, and care.

You are allowed to be a whole person — not just a function.

You Deserve Care That Actually Sees You

If you are a Black mother — pregnant, postpartum, or anywhere in the season of new parenthood — I want you to know this:

I see you. This work is personal to me. And you deserve a clinician who understands not just perinatal mental health, but the specific experience of being a Black woman navigating it in America.

I am a Certified Perinatal Mental Health Specialist licensed in Maryland, Washington DC, Virginia, and Florida. I work virtually. I bring nearly 20 years of clinical experience and a deep understanding of the cultural context that shapes the mental health of Black women.

If you are ready to talk, the first step is a free 15-minute consultation.

You do not have to carry this alone.

Regulate. Repair. Reconnect.

And most of all — let yourself be cared for.

Jennifer Williams, LCPC, PMH-C is a Licensed Clinical Professional Counselor, Certified Perinatal Mental Health Specialist, Board-Approved Clinical Supervisor, and founder of Pass Go! Therapy and Coaching. She provides virtual therapy in Maryland, Washington DC, Virginia, and Florida, and coaching nationwide. She is a Goldman Sachs One Million Black Women, Black in Business alumna.