Author: Jasmine J. Singleton

  • What the Bible Actually Says About Anxiety (And What That Means for You Right Now)

    Anxiety lies. It borrows trouble from tomorrow and drags in yesterday. Neither one is real. — Jasmine J. Singleton, LCSW

    Let me say something before we even get into scripture. If you are reading this while your mind is already running through tomorrow’s to-do list, or replaying a conversation from last week, or bracing for something that hasn’t happened yet, I see you. And I want you to take one slow breath before we go any further.

    Okay. Now let’s talk.

    Anxiety is one of the most common things women come to me with in the therapy room. And for Black women specifically, it often arrives wearing a disguise. It looks like being on top of everything. It looks like handling it. It looks like strength. But underneath all of that doing, there is often a woman who has not felt truly still, truly safe, or truly present in a very long time.

    Faith is something many of us were handed early. And for a lot of us, it has been a lifeline. But sometimes the very scriptures meant to bring comfort get used in ways that leave us feeling like anxiety is a spiritual failure. Like if we just prayed harder, trusted more, or quoted the right verse, we would finally stop feeling this way.

    So I want to look at what the Bible actually says. Not as a checklist. Not as a correction. But as an invitation.

    The Verse Everyone Quotes and What It Really Means

    Philippians 4:6 is probably the most referenced scripture when it comes to anxiety. “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”

    On the surface, it can sound like a command. Like a spiritual to-do item. Stop being anxious. Just pray. Done.

    But Paul wrote those words from prison. He was not writing from a comfortable place of ease. He was writing from a place of genuine uncertainty, and yet he had found something that anchored him. He wasn’t dismissing the hard feelings. He was pointing to a practice of prayer, gratitude, and bringing your whole self to God that creates a pathway through those hard feelings.

    The verse that follows is the part we don’t quote as often: “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

    Guard. Not erase. Not shame. Guard.

    God is not asking you to never feel anxious. He is offering to stand watch over the places inside you that feel the most vulnerable.

    Yesterday Is Gone. Tomorrow Isn’t Here Yet. So Where Are You?

    One of the most profound things Jesus ever said about anxiety is found in Matthew 6:34: “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

    Read that again slowly.

    Tomorrow will take care of itself. Yesterday is already done. The only moment that is actually real, the only ground you are standing on right now, is this one.

    Anxiety almost always lives outside of the present. It either drags us back into what already happened, the conversation that went sideways, the decision we second-guess, the wound that never fully healed, or it pulls us forward into something that hasn’t arrived yet and may never arrive the way we’re imagining it.

    What would it feel like to just be here? Not to fix anything. Not to figure anything out. Just to be in the actual moment you are living right now?

    This is not a new concept that came from a wellness podcast. This is ancient wisdom. Scripture has always known that the present moment is where God meets us. “I AM,” God tells Moses in Exodus 3:14. Not “I was.” Not “I will be.” I AM. Present tense. Always.

    When we are anxious, we are often living everywhere except where God already is, right here, right now, with us.

    The Weight Black Women Carry Into Their Worry

    Anxiety does not show up the same way for every woman. And for Black women, there are layers that deserve to be named directly.

    There is the everyday anxiety of managing households, raising children, and showing up at work while navigating spaces that were not always built with you in mind. There is the particular exhaustion of code-switching, of being one version of yourself in one room and another version in the next, never fully at rest in either place. There is racial stress that accumulates quietly in the body, the kind that doesn’t just disappear at the end of the workday.

    And then there is the anxiety that comes from never having been given permission to need help. From being raised to be strong. From being praised every time you held it together and left alone every time you were falling apart. When your resilience becomes the expectation, there is no safe place to put your worry down.

    But here is what I know to be true, both as a therapist and as a woman of faith: carrying everything was never the assignment. Strength was never meant to mean silence. And God has always been more interested in your honesty than your performance.

    Psalm 55:22 says, “Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you.” Cast them. Not manage them perfectly. Not figure them out first. Cast them like something you’re releasing from your hands because they were never yours to hold alone.

    What It Means to Be Grounded

    Grounding is a word that shows up in both therapy and scripture, and I don’t think that’s a coincidence.

    In clinical terms, grounding means bringing yourself back into your body and into the present moment when anxiety has pulled you out of it. It is one of the most powerful tools we have for managing anxious thoughts and nervous system dysregulation.

    In spiritual terms, being grounded means being rooted in something that doesn’t move. Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still and know that I am God.” That stillness is not passive. It is an active choice to stop striving, stop spinning, and let yourself be held by something greater than what is worrying you.

    Both are true at the same time. And both take practice.

    Ways to Find Your Ground Starting Today

    There is no one path back to yourself. What grounds one woman may not ground another. So I want to offer you options, because you know yourself better than any article does.

    Through Faith

    Prayer does not have to be formal. It can be as simple as sitting quietly and saying, “I don’t know how to handle this, and I need you.” Scripture can be a grounding tool too, not something you recite to make the anxiety stop, but something you sit with until the truth of it begins to settle in your body. Try writing out Psalm 23 in your own words. Or spend five minutes with just one phrase from scripture and let it breathe.

    Through Your Body

    Anxiety lives in the nervous system, not just the mind. One of the fastest ways to shift your state is through your breath. Try inhaling for four counts, holding for four, and exhaling for six. Do that three times and notice what changes. You can also try placing both feet flat on the floor, pressing them down deliberately, and naming five things you can see around you right now. These are not tricks. They are ways of telling your body that you are safe, you are here, and this moment is manageable.

    Through Connection

    You were not designed for isolation. One of the quietest lies anxiety tells is that you are the only one who feels this way, or that no one would understand, or that sharing it would be too much for someone else to hold. Find one person, not someone who will fix it but someone who will sit with it, and let yourself be a little more honest than usual. Community is one of God’s oldest designs for healing.

    Through Professional Support

    Therapy is not a sign that your faith isn’t enough. It is a resource, the same way a doctor is a resource. A therapist who understands your cultural background, your faith, and the specific weight that Black women carry can offer you tools and a space that few other places provide. You do not have to be in crisis to deserve support.

    If you are looking for a therapist who gets it, these directories are a good place to start: Clinicians of Color (cliniciansofcolor.org), Melanin and Mental Health (melaninandmentalhealth.com), and Therapy for Black Girls (therapyforblackgirls.com).

    And if you are located in Texas or New Mexico, I would love to connect with you personally. You are welcome to reach out to me directly for a free consultation at glwellnesscenter.com. You deserve care that sees you fully.

    Through Small, Everyday Rituals

    Grounding doesn’t always require a grand spiritual moment. Sometimes it’s stepping outside for five minutes in the morning before the day starts pulling at you. Sometimes it’s a cup of tea without your phone. Sometimes it’s putting on music that makes your shoulders drop. Sometimes it’s writing down three things that are true and good about your life right now, not to dismiss the hard things, but to remind yourself that the hard things are not the whole story.

    You Are Allowed to Be Here

    The present moment is not something to get through. It is where your life is actually happening. It is where God is. It is where you are, right now, in whatever state you arrived in.

    Yesterday is finished. It cannot be changed, and it does not get to define what this moment holds for you. Tomorrow is not yours to carry today. It will come with its own grace, its own provisions, its own set of things God has already worked out that you cannot see yet.

    All you have to do right now is be here. Breathe. Feel the ground under your feet. Let yourself be held by a God who already knows everything you’re worried about and has not left.

    You are not falling apart. You are a woman who is learning what it means to be still. And that is one of the most courageous things there is.


    If you are in a season where anxiety feels heavier than manageable, please reach out for support. You can call or text 988 (the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline) at any time. You matter too much to stay silent.

  • Why “Strong Black Woman” Is a Trauma Response, Not a Compliment

    We are not strong because we are built differently. We are strong because we had no choice.

    I want to tell you about one of the lowest seasons of my life. Not because I enjoy revisiting it, but because I know someone reading this has lived a version of it too, and I want you to feel less alone in it.

    Where This Strength Actually Comes From

    Black women did not choose this narrative of strength. It was placed on us, generation after generation, born out of circumstances that left us no other option. Survival looked like strength. And strength became our identity, whether we wanted it or not.

    We work ourselves to exhaustion, holding down careers while raising children, many of us doing it alone. We navigate financial stress, emotional labor, and the mental weight of moving through spaces not designed with us in mind. We carry all of this quietly, because speaking up means being labeled difficult or angry. Because asking for help is treated as weakness.

    Strength was never supposed to mean silence. And endurance was never supposed to mean going without.

    What It Has Done to Our Relationships

    When a woman is viewed as unbreakable, the natural instinct to protect her gets diminished. The narrative that positions us as strong above all else has quietly communicated to the men in our lives that we do not need what other women need. That our needs are optional.

    We were never meant to be everyone’s backbone. We were meant to be someone’s partner, someone’s equal, someone who gets to be held too.

    Let Us Talk About Our Femininity

    I am a soft-spoken woman. Extremely feminine. I have an unreasonable fear of lizards. I do not believe in taking out the trash when there is a man around. I love being in my femininity in every gentle, girly, tender way that word means. And yet, the story told about me has never led with any of that. It leads with how much I have endured. How much I have survived.

    Pain and perseverance have become the metrics by which Black womanhood is measured, while softness and femininity are treated as traits that belong to other women.

    We do not want to be statues. We want to be women. Fully, completely, softly, beautifully human women.

    The Narrative Has to Change

    It means the people who love us have to stop using our past resilience as a reason not to show up for us now. It means that we, as Black women, have to give ourselves permission to stop performing invincibility for people who have grown comfortable with our strength at the expense of our wellbeing.

    You are allowed to need things. You are allowed to not be okay. The myth of the Strong Black Woman has had its season. It is time to tell a fuller story.

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  • From the Archives: When It Hurts — Learning to Forgive So You Can Finally Heal

    Real forgiveness. The kind that is synonymous with peace.

    Originally published September 8, 2016. Revisited and updated.

    Can you remember what your first heartbreak felt like? What about the second time, or the third, or even the fourth time someone hurt you? Can you still feel the weight of that disappointment, the sting of betrayal, the quiet unraveling of trust?

    For most of us, those moments stay etched somewhere deep. The experiences may fade around the edges, but the feelings tend to linger far longer than we expect. We have our adages, of course. “Hurt people hurt people.” “Without the bad, you cannot appreciate the good.” “Time heals all wounds.” And as comforting as they can be, the truth is simple and unavoidable: at some point in this life, all of us will experience emotional pain.

    I remember my first significant heartbreak with painful clarity. The gut-wrenching realization that the person I had trusted and loved was not who I believed him to be. The clouded judgment. The tear-stained cheeks. The confusion of trying to understand how someone I had given so much of myself to could be disloyal when I had made my love so clear.

    I fell hard into the cycle that so many of us know too well. I expected love to look the way I imagined it should, and when it did not, I became the poster child for “hurt people hurt people” without even realizing it. I wanted him to feel what I had felt. I was the victim, after all.

    And is that not the rationalization most of us reach for? Someone lied to us, cheated on us, embarrassed us, so we feel entitled to respond in kind. But it never quite works out that way. No matter what we do, they will never feel exactly what we felt. Our experiences, whether beautiful or devastating, are uniquely ours.

    What I had to learn, slowly and sometimes painfully, is that life will always throw curveballs. The people we love will disappoint us. Some of those disappointments will be small and easily forgiven. Others will leave marks. But the path through all of it, no matter how deep the wound, runs directly through forgiveness.

    Not the kind of forgiveness that quietly says “I forgive you but I will never forget.” Not the kind dressed up as grace while revenge simmers underneath. Real forgiveness. The kind that is synonymous with peace.

    When we refuse to forgive, we hand someone else the keys to our emotional life. We allow them to continue holding us hostage long after the situation has ended. And that is not just an emotional cost, it is a spiritual one. Who, outside of your Higher Power, deserves that level of authority over your peace?

    We also have to reckon honestly with the fact that we are all flawed. Every single one of us has hurt someone, whether we meant to or not. That reality invites a harder question: when we are the ones who need forgiveness, what kind do we hope for?

    Our experiences shape us. Every hurt, every disappointment, every betrayal, none of it is wasted if we let it teach us something. The work of forgiveness is not quick or easy, but it is necessary. Move through it, not around it, and watch what begins to open up in your life.

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  • From the Archives: Why Testing Your Partner’s Love Always Backfires

    How much can you truly trust the love of someone you had to trick into showing it?

    Originally published November 25, 2015. Revisited and updated.

    One of the biggest mistakes you can make in a relationship is attempting to test your partner’s love. At its core, testing someone’s love is a form of manipulation, and manipulation causes harm in every direction.

    When a partner realizes they are being tested, the natural response is rarely the one you were hoping for. Feelings of resentment, anger, and even retaliation tend to surface. In trying to steer your partner through manipulation, you end up engineering your own disappointment.

    But consider the other outcome. What if your partner goes along with it? The relationship has still been changed. The resentment and anger do not disappear just because the test was passed. And honestly, how much can you truly trust the love of someone you had to trick into showing it?

    Here is the truth that sits underneath all of it: testing a partner’s love comes from insecurity. It is an attempt to manufacture a sense of safety that real love is supposed to provide on its own. But even when every test gets passed, the insecurity does not disappear. The problem was never really about your partner.

    The more we allow our own self-worth to lead, the more naturally others are drawn to appreciate us for exactly who we are. And that kind of love, the kind that is not coerced or tested into existence, reflects the work we have done to love ourselves better.

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  • From the Archives: The Club Sandwich Generation — When Life Has More Layers Than You Can Chew

    A club sandwich with one less ingredient is still a meal. It can still nourish you.

    Originally published November 25, 2015. Revisited and updated.

    Do you ever sit quietly and reflect on your life, trying to pinpoint the moment everything shifted? Trying to trace your way back to who you were and what your life looked like before everything changed?

    I can remember sitting in my undergraduate social work classes, listening to my professors reference something called “the sandwich generation.” The phrase was used to describe adults who find themselves caught between building their own careers and families while simultaneously taking on the responsibility of caring for aging parents. I remember hearing it and thinking it was nothing more than academic jargon, the kind of terminology you commit to memory just long enough to pass an exam.

    Then, a few years ago, it happened. I found myself living inside that forgotten phrase without even seeing it coming. Suddenly the words I had seen printed in black and white across countless social work textbooks were no longer abstract. They were my reality.

    There I was, navigating the familiar, relentless balancing act of career, family, and now the added responsibility of supporting my aging mother. And then it hit me: I did not even fit neatly into the standard sandwich generation. My life was something more layered than that. I was living in the sub-category. The club sandwich generation.

    When you begin to account for all of the roles attached to who you are, mother, daughter, partner, sister, friend, employee, coworker, and everything else life assigns you, the layers multiply quickly. Each role carries its own set of expectations, its own weight, its own demands on your time and energy. Before long, your sandwich has more in it than you can reasonably manage in a single sitting.

    What I have come to understand is this: if the sandwich ever becomes too much to finish, it is okay to eat what you can without making yourself sick and save the rest for later. It is even okay to consider removing a layer or two. A club sandwich with one less ingredient is still satisfying. It is still a meal. It can still nourish you.

    Your life, with one less obligation weighing you down, can still be full and meaningful. Give yourself permission to set something down when you need to.

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