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Founder's Letter: What Happens When Your Body Tells the Truth Before You Do?

One thing I try to ask black women and I mean genuinely ask is: “How are you?” Not the polite and automatic “you alright?” that we say when we’re in a rush or, if we’re being honest, when we want to be polite but don’t actually want to get into a full conversation. When we ask each other how we are as black women, we’re asking each other to create space for vulnerability, something the world rarely affords us. We’re asking each other to pause, slow down and think about ourselves, not our roles, responsibilities, the social or political climate or any of the other weights that sit on our shoulders.

While we should be asking each other these questions and I’m sure many of us do, how many of us ask them to ourselves? How many of us stand in the mirror or in our minds ask: “How are you?” This act of checking in is vital if we’re going to navigate life in the healthiest way and be there for the people we love

Over the last few years, I’ve been forced to ask myself this question. In the summer of 2024, I broke out in shingles, and the doctor asked me something simple: “Have you been under high levels of stress?” Of course the answer was yes, but it was also the moment I realised I needed to take my health more seriously. I had to think deeply about what my health and wellbeing actually look like. Because maybe, as a woman and especially as a black woman, I’ve been performing a picture of health. Being the strong friend. The dutiful first daughter who listens. The sacrificial wife and mother. Being unflappable in work settings because I know there are no second chances for black women, especially dark-skinned black women.

Tobi in a lift

In all honesty, that one-off episode of shingles shouldn’t have been the moment that finally made me stop and think about my health. As someone who has lived with endometriosis, a condition that has been a long-running storyline in my life, I should have known my body had been sending warning signs long before the shingles appeared. The sharper pains in my stomach and legs, the heavier periods, the days when I had to cancel meetings or literally work from my bed… all of it was my body trying to tell a story I kept ignoring. That should have been the moment I realised my health needed urgent attention. (Speaking of endometriosis and gynaecological health shout out to Dr. Aziza for  the "Not bad words" campaign normalising Women's Genital and Improving Menstrual Health Education. She even has a song about it which you can listen to on YouTube, in the bid to be Christmas number 1).

This is when I should have asked myself, “Are you ok?” Instead, I did what so many of us do and carried on performing the picture of perfect health when and where I could.

And yet, in performing that picture of health, I wasn’t making time for exercise — which is so important not just for my physical but my mental wellbeing. My diet wasn’t as disciplined as it should have been. And I didn’t have the capacity to ask myself: What should my health habits and non-negotiables look like at this stage of my life? Should I consider therapy? What does a real rest day look like?

Tobi working out

Knowing I’m not alone in this, knowing that society treats the health and wellbeing of black women as a “nice to have,” made me think about Black Ballad. As we continue into 2026 and beyond, what does health and wellness look like to black women now?

One thing I’ve been reminded of is that health isn’t just our physical and mental wellbeing. It’s shaped by our finances and the stress of stretching every pound. It’s shaped by how often we can access and express our culture. It’s shaped by how much of our identity we shrink or hide to fit into certain environments. These are the unspoken truths that quietly determine the health and wellbeing of black women.

So with that in mind, I want Black Ballad to continue to serve black women and that means putting your health first. If we are to remain Black Women Who Dare To Dream, then we must also help you build the health you don’t just dream of, but the health routines and care you deserve a reality.

So, as this is my last newsletter of 2025, I hope you take a moment over the festive period to ask yourself: “Am I ok?” Maybe the year has been incredible, maybe it’s been steady, or maybe it’s been awful, but you are still standing 12 months later, and that alone is worth checking in with yourself. My hope is that in 2026, Black Ballad reminds every single black woman in this community to ask herself that question again and again.

Another year down. I’ll be back in your inbox in 2026.

So Merry Christmas and wishing us all the 2026 we all deserve.