Before the Alberta Black Therapists Network existed, there was a longing. A longing to be seen and understood by someone who knew what it was like to carry what we carried. We were Black therapists in Alberta, often the only ones in our workplaces or teams. Quietly holding space for others while wondering where we could go to be held ourselves.
There were messages, introductions, and a growing awareness that we were not alone. We knew that the ache we felt wasn’t just individual. It was collective. And that longing for connection? It was sacred. It needed to be honoured, not ignored.
From Shayla Dube: Thriving, Resting, And Being Held
Thriving, for me, means not waiting until the end of the week to feel like myself again. It’s choosing not to abandon my needs in the name of service. Thriving is walking my child to school, not because I have to, but because I want to. It’s stillness, not striving. Joy, not exhaustion.
It took me a long time to embrace rest, and even longer to see myself outside of productivity. But now that I have, I’m never going back. This body, this heart, this soul? They’re mine. And I treat them like they matter. Because they do. Rest is not something I sprinkle on top of burnout. It’s something I build into my rhythm. I no longer wait to crash before I permit myself to breathe. I listen when my body whispers, so it doesn’t have to scream. I rest unapologetically. I don’t just talk about balance. I live it.
Some of my rituals look like movement. Like walking while a client shares something they’ve never said out loud. Or calling a friend when I need a reminder that I’m not alone. Or the sound of my child’s laughter as I ground myself after holding heavy stories. We don’t need perfection. We need tools. We need people. We need permission to feel.
From Noreen Sibanda: Sisterhood, Food, And The Sacred Rhythm
Our sisterhood is not performative. It’s sacred. Not always perfect, but always honest. We’re not the same; we’re wired differently, but we lean into that. One of us may be the calm in the storm. The other, the fire. Both are necessary. That’s what balance looks like.
We don’t just agree to disagree. We circle back when the air gets tight. We don’t avoid hard conversations. We come back to the table. We don’t just love how we work together. We love each other. Not in theory, but in truth. In the way we check in, show up, and protect each other’s wellness. In the way we pause, repair, and reset.
And we share meals. I love to cook. Shayla shows up with her appetite and praise hands. But it’s never just food. It’s tradition, love, and one of our oldest tools for healing. Some of our deepest conversations have happened over stew or jollof. Eating together reminds us who we are. It’s more than therapy. It’s communion.
Together: This Is What Healing Looks Like
Some people are still unsure about therapy. We get that. Some are carrying generations of silence. Some have had bad experiences. Others are simply afraid. That’s okay. We don’t meet fear with pressure. We meet it with presence.
We don’t minimise the hesitation. We honour it. And we gently ask, “What if healing is possible for you too?” Sometimes what opens the door isn’t our credentials. It’s the fact that we’ve been to therapy ourselves. That we’re still in therapy. That we’ve done our work. Vulnerability invites vulnerability. That’s where the magic lives.
We are not just therapists. We are women raised in village values. We know what it means to hold a sister while she weeps. To keep watch for a friend who cannot sleep. We know what it means to pray together, cook together, and wade through grief together. We are not here to save anyone. We’re here to remind you of your power. That kind of work is not individual. It’s relational. It’s ancestral. It’s spiritual. That’s why it works.
Mirroring Wholeness
We’re unlearning mental messages, body messages and beauty messages. We’re reclaiming softness, fullness, confidence, and care. We’re undoing the lie that we must be small to be loved. That we must be quiet to be respected. That we must be white-adjacent to be enough. We are enough now. We’ve always been enough. And we will continue to mirror that truth to every client who crosses our path.
Cultural safety is our baseline. A safe space isn’t a place where you’re never triggered. It’s a place where your truth won’t be punished. Our clients don’t have to translate their pain. They don’t have to explain their tone. Or why their grief is loud. Or why their silence is sacred. They get to bring all of it. And we meet them in that place with reverence.
Because this work is not simply about therapy. It’s about liberation.
