DEI Module for Therapist Recertification
Let's workshop this piece about a DEI module that therapists need to take in order to keep their license to practice up to date
DEI Module for Therapist Recertification
So y’all two gonna need to get them cameras figured out asap. They mandatory. We ain’t playin none of that colorblind business here.—Anyways people, its time.
Salutations. I’m Miss Adams. I do wanna learn about all y’all, and we’ll get to that soon enough. But first—and some of y’all already know the drill (Domica, I see you gurrrl)—first I’mma lay some things out real quick. And yeah, I’mma be straight with y’all. Most of them “continuing education” hours y’all clockin—they ain’t nothin more than hoops. Y’all jumpin through—watchin Becky click through slides with no damn seasonin, sayin nothin y’all ain’t already know—cuz y’all gotta keep cozy with them licensing boards. We all know the drill. We’ve all been there, done that. But for those who ain’t know Miss Adams, this module—my module? It ain’t just some box to check for “professional development” or whatever. Look at my skin. I wear my truth. I live this. This is personal! This is a mandate for change. Life and death ain’t somethin to tune out, people. And that’s just one more reason them cameras gotta be on.
The key concept ain’t difficult. People get confused, they get worked up, they get all red in the face—but the deal is simple. Each black patient walks into y’all offices with a burden, an unbearable load. No, it ain’t just centuries of oppression. Antiblack violence grows each day. It grows even though it hides so well now, almost to the point of invisibility. That invisibility—that’s the real terror. Cuz who you gonna turn to? Who’ll believe you? White folk gaslight us—thinkin everythin sweet, tellin us things “so much better.” How can we prove things ain’t so peachy when there ain’t nothin to point to that white folk can see? At best we can point to so-called “microaggressions.” But microaggressions just be the tip of an iceberg that’ll sink any damn ship. Kings and queens seem too sensitive at best—and crazy at worst, cuz they pointin to somethin that can only be seen by those with that second sight, a blessing and a curse.
It's imperative for these reasons that y’all affirm each and every black patient. We can’t have the gaslightin anymore. It ends! It’s on us to believe, to trust unconditionally. Let’s keep it real. After all them years of slavery; all them years of whites askin “How come that brown sugar tastes so good?” (y’all know the song); all them years of sneaky oppression after we was freed—the very least we can do (especially as professionals people turn to in their darkest times), the very least we can do is always believe what black people say, always affirm their truth. Nah, this ain’t just mean letting black people speak first or never talkin over them and all that. That’s just window dressin. That ain’t nothin more than Target featuring a clothing line by a black designer as some stunt for Black History Month. It goes much deeper. It’s about never doubtin the word, any word, from our black kings and queens!
Here's the “tricky” part. Y’all gotta look past the fronts: the smiles, the Becky tones, the acts (“Oh, I’m fine”)—all that. Y’all gotta see through them evasions, see through to the core of the black patient. That core—that’s where y’all gotta plant that trust. That inner child—that’s what y’all gotta affirm. Trust and affirm the authentic blackness deep within—yep, even if that means doubtin and rejectin all the masks.
Turns out this ain’t as hard as it sounds. Cuz its one-size-fits-all at the end of the day. That core I’m talking about, that ebony heart—it says (and this is the key point), it says the same thing for each black person. It says “I was, and continue to be, brutalized by a suffocating white world.” It says, “America has crushed me and my people and it continues to crush me and my people.” The words might change. The actors in the drama might change. But the message remains the same. It’s that core message—that deep blues, that “Nobody knows” spiritual—that none of y’all should ever question.
These Zoom sessions, these Blackboard sessions—I’ve been doin them since COVID, right. And for some reason—really I know the reason (but we ain’t gonna get into all that)—folks, certain folk, get confused. They think I’m talkin riddles. Nah, I’m saying exactly what I mean. So let me say it again. Y’all gotta trust that your black patient was abused. Now that’s easy enough when the patient herself suspects she was abused. But let’s increase the difficulty. Say a black queen comes in, chipper as Becky. What if she so damn deep in the white-world matrix that she ain’t suspect a thing? Remember the core: y’all gotta trust that your black patient was abused even if she doubt it herself. She might yell in resistance. She might defends the very hands that oppress her. Y’all gotta see through the façade.
Even kings and queens need help sometimes. Don’t underestimate the blinding power of our white-supremacist society. The stem cells of America—the very building blocks—have an antiblack agenda. Your black patient needs you—yes, you—to stay steady in the belief that her body, her soul, is a battleground. Whether she knows it or not, whether she’s in touch with that inner child or not—the black patient needs y’all to stand firm in the faith. Her suffering, her marginalization, is personal and yet also a piece of a puzzle much bigger and uglier.
What does this all mean? The bottom line—and I’m repeatin myself, so there ain’t no confusion here: never join in with a black patient’s doubts about her own victimhood and the victimhood of her people. That would be false validation. We always trust black folk—yep, y’all know that. We are owed at least that. That’s first of all. And besides, that just makes sense cuz oppression means innocence and innocence gotta be trusted. But don’t be tricked by the devil mask. It’s the core—the authentic black child within—that y’all gotta trust. Never validate the doubts of the mask. Mics on, mics on and say it loud with me—and look, we all can check off the oath requirement in one blow. I—Will—Never—Join—A—Black—Patient—In—Doubt—About—Her—Oppression! Joining in on any doubt, that’s like telling someone on the edge that jumping might just be the best move.
In our social-media world it’s easy to stumble across black folk with Stockholm Syndrome: these Coleman Hughes and Chad Johnson characters (neo Uncle Toms replacing the Lourys and McWhorters of my time). All this messaging can confuse us. It can have us thinkin we ain’t under attack. I’m ain’t gonna go into it too much, but that’s more deadly than it seems. Black folk are united in victimization. To say that we ain’t victims—notice what that does. It cuts black folk off from community, our only saving grace from genocide. My point here, though, is that access to them eloquent black scholars wearing white masks has led to an epidemic, an epidemic of black people thinkin there ain’t no agenda against us.
What does this mean? It means that, as therapists, y’all are on the front line. That’s why it’s critical to treat the patient as though her past and present victimization is not only brutally real, but central to who she is. Therapy ain’t just about healin in a narrow sense: patchin the patient up so she can go on white-knucklin through the white world. Y’all gotta wake her up. That what a first-line responder is prepared for. But to wake someone up sometimes means smashing everything she thought she knew. The inner child didn’t just choose to hide away. It’s been walled in. Them walls gotta be torn down so it can sing its song. It’s a song whitey is desperate not to hear: “I’m owed an infinite debt cuz I’m an infinite victim.”
We can’t afford to get all academic, all nuanced, about this. The stakes are just too high. They too high for caution. Action—now’s the time for action. Y’all have y’all theoretical side, y’all skeptical side, y’all scientific side. All that has got to go. Leave it at the door. It’s an ethical obligation. There’s no time to say “But wait, shouldn’t we think about this?” Do no harm here—something all y’all have sworn—requires, in this triple-k Amerikkka, activism above all!
Now, I see a few white faces on the screen—and yes, I’m glad y’all two got them cameras figured out. I see you. I know y’all tryin. I know y’all good people and well-intentioned. Shoot, even Hitler loved dogs! That’s just Miss Adams being playful. But let me get serious, cuz this is serious. I got no doubt that y’all are talented, highly talented. I got no doubt that y’all help patients realize hidden strengths and become more satisfied in their careers and relationships, more acceptin of things they can’t change—all of it. But real talk now. If y’all are white—listen now: if y’all are white, refer black patients to a black practitioner. Pass them off. Whatever they might say, however much their white masks kick and scream—refer them. Cut them off. Do not entangle yourself.
“Miss Adams, why you sayin this?” That’s what I get—again and again. Here’s why. A white therapist—look, its right there at the top of page two—cannot help but precipitate violence against black patients. That is a politically correct way of saying that a white therapist can’t help by participate in group stomping the black body. Y’all might think your kicks are soft. And maybe they are, comparatively. But your presence, just sittin there, reminds us of oppression. We must acknowledge the power dynamics inherent in cross-racial relationships stemming from systemic inequities. So do the right thing, the only right thing: refer your black kings and queens to therapists of their own race. Only then—in a safe space, away from the shadows of white bias and violence (intended or not)—only then can true healing from generational and present-day trauma begin.
Therapy requires genuine trust. It requires bonding. When we’re talking black folk, that can only develop under protective segregation. Wounds this deep can’t be exposed to germs, especially when those germs are the ones that cause the wounds. We need exclusionary spaces of care.
Yes, yes, yes—y’all wanna report stories of meaningful bonds with black patients. I don’t deny y’all feel that way. Hell, I don’t deny there actually was bonding! But this so-called “bonding”—that’s really just trauma bonding. And as y’all know from healthy romantic relationships, trauma bonding ain’t never gonna cut it. It’s about buildin something healthier, stronger.
Some of y’all might be resistant, even hurt. But this isn't about condemnation. It’s about reconciliation. I know some of y’all might have black patients right now and have genuine good feelings toward them. But even at the expense of personal discomfort we gotta prioritize addressin racial power imbalances. It ain’t personal. It’s about breaking down a system that’s stacked against us. Y’all think y’all helpin, but y’all part of the problem without even knowing it. We need spaces where healing can happen without the extra weight of all them unspoken tensions and histories.
