Tough Love or Bullying? How In-House Sabotage Hurts Black Women Artists

Well,

it’s time for us to have that conversation.

What does it mean to be a Black woman and an artist—simultaneously?

Grab a glass of water (or a couple of shots, your call) and settle in. Because—no matter how hard some people pretend not to notice for their own convenience—being a Black woman is not for the weak. You move through society wearing two targets at once: womanhood and Blackness. Even the simplest errands—walking the dog, grabbing groceries, mind-numbing doom-scrolling—can expose you to an endless drip of micro-aggressions and misogynoir. That drip is corrosive. It seeps into our souls whether we consent or not.

Some of us fight back.

Some of us swallow the poison and recycle it inside the very community that should feel like a safe haven—turning the “sisterhood” into a battleground. Too often, older, savvier—or simply more jaded—women tear down younger, prettier, or more naïve Black women under the guise of mentorship and tough love. They prey on scars left by centuries of systemic abuse, banking on the fact that many of us are half-numb to the pain—and can’t always tell the difference between genuine guidance and straight-up sabotage.

So instead of blooming under protective wings, we’re kept small, compliant, docile enough to serve a new “master.” This isn’t a lecture; it’s a mirror. If we truly want to thrive as Black women and as artists, we have to call the poison by its name, stop drinking it—and refuse to pass the cup to the next girl in line.

“I thought tearing another Black woman down would make room for me. It never did.” — Gabrielle Union, We’re Going to Need More Wine (2017)

Union’s confession lays bare a pattern that shows up in the data as well: the Women in the Workplace 2023 report finds that nearly half of Black women employees (41 %) say they face micro-aggressions from other women, compared with 26 % of women overall. In other words, the problem isn’t anecdotal—it’s structural.

A parallel insight comes from Viola Davis. In her 2022 memoir Finding Me, Davis recalls being discouraged and subtly undermined by other Black women in the industry who had internalised scarcity mind-sets. She notes that “competition was weaponised against us,” and that true progress began only when she and her peers chose collaboration over rivalry.

Taken together, Union’s and Davis’s stories—backed by hard numbers—underscore how intra-community sabotage drains collective power, and why dismantling it is a prerequisite for equity.

How to Spot a Fake Mentor

They enthusiastically promote and uplift everyone but you.

They keep you in “service roles,” overlooking your strongest skills.

They frame you as “fragile” or “difficult,” then build a bubble around you so they can filter out—or quietly seize—opportunities meant for you, all while wearing the mask of mentorship.

They play petty social games: pretending not to see you, withholding greetings, opportunities warmth only from you, trying to make you feel isolated.

Remember: abusers don’t target everybody—they select their victims and cut them off from support. So if you’re wondering whether this is “all in your head,” there’s a good chance it isn’t.

Your turn. Have you encountered “tough-love” sabotage disguised as mentorship? Share your story—or a resource that helped you break the cycle—in the comments. Let’s swap antidotes and stop recycling the poison.