Straw Is Striking a Nerve—and Rightfully So
I noticed the buzz around Straw—the 2025 psychological crime drama by Tyler Perry now streaming on Netflix—but I didn’t rush to watch it. It wasn’t until my sister, Oleda, invited me to sit down and watch it that I gave in. She raved about the film—but also gave me a warning: This might hit too close to home.
She wasn’t wrong.
Straw follows the story of Janiyah, a single mother pushed beyond her breaking point, played powerfully by Taraji P. Henson. With a star-studded cast that includes Sherri Shepherd, Teyana Taylor, and Sinbad, the film dives deep into the realities of mental health, motherhood, and survival. For many of us—especially Black single mothers—the themes hit painfully close.
I didn’t just relate to Janiyah’s story. I lived parts of it.
A few years ago, I experienced a severe mental health crisis brought on by the weight of solo parenting, trauma, and constant pressure. I was navigating my daughter’s health issues, a recent sexual assault, a divorce, a high-stakes trial, and the loss of a job—all at once. Eventually, I hit a wall. I “snapped,” as society might say—but I now know what I experienced was a full-blown mental health crisis.
I was placed under a PEC (Physician’s Emergency Certificate) not once, but twice. In a matter of days.
My story didn’t involve a shootout or a bank robbery, but it did involve fear, shame, and the presence of armed officers. As a Black woman in America, that’s more than enough to trigger trauma.
Thankfully, I wasn’t harmed—but the danger was real.
Watching Straw was a reminder of how quickly a person can spiral when they’re unsupported. How fragile the line is between survival and collapse. And how invisible our breaking points can be to those around us until it’s too late.
I would love to see a Straw Part II—one where we get to witness Janiyah’s healing. Because that’s a story we rarely see on screen: the after part. The rebuilding. The therapy. The community. The healing.
I am grateful to my sister Oleda and other family members and friends who recognized I wasn’t okay and got me the help I needed to get through this experience safely. Above is a picture of Oleda and I at a hotel as we talked about helping me get home safely. She was my Nicole—meeting me where I was, not judging, not rushing, just being there.
Everyone deserves a Nicole.
Someone who sees your pain and stays anyway.
Thank you Oleda for showing up without judgment, for staying with me in the storm, and helping me find my way back.
Thank you to all my family and friends who saw me and supported me through this crisis.
If Straw stirred something in you, know this: you’re not alone. And if you’re supporting someone through a mental health crisis, your quiet presence can mean everything.
Below is a picture of me—home, healing, and happier.
I want us, as a culture, to move away from sensationalizing breakdowns and toward trauma-informed language. Instead of saying “she snapped,” let’s say:
- She experienced a mental health crisis.
- She was overwhelmed and needed help.
- She hit her limit—and didn’t have support.
We also need to do a better job of sharing free, accessible resources. If you or someone you know is struggling right now—especially around Father’s Day—I recently wrote a post for Lafayette Mom, as part of a series, offering free and low-cost mental health resources for anyone having a hard time. You can read it here:
👉{Part 2} Father’s Day Isn’t Easy for Everyone :: Tools for Navigating the Day with Intention.
Let’s also talk honestly about how policies affect mental health. This isn’t a political post, but it is a truth-telling one: proposed budget cuts from the current administration are direct attacks on Black families—especially single mothers already balancing the care of themselves and their families while juggling financial instability. Mental health care must be accessible, affordable, and free of stigma. Anything less is unacceptable.
Straw may feel dramatic or extreme to some—but for others, it’s a familiar reflection. A warning sign. A call for help.
And for me, it’s a reminder of why I wrote my book Personal Injury: The Economic Impact of Abusive Relationships. In it, I talk openly about my own mental health crisis, my journey through survival, and my passion for calling out systemic gaps that hurt survivors.
If you haven’t watched Straw yet, I invite you to. But more importantly, I invite you to listen—to the people in your life who may be holding more than they can carry.
We need to do better.
We need to see each other.
We need to heal—together.
Below is a picture of me now—an attorney, author, and advocate—not just surviving, but thriving.
I am working beyond the healing.
Because healing is not the end of the story.
It’s the beginning of something powerful.
If this resonates with you—or if you’re ready to hear more stories that speak truth to survival, mental health, and reclaiming power—stay tuned by clicking the subscribe button on the bottom of this webpage.
My book, Personal Injury: The Economic Impact of Abusive Relationships, is launching soon.
It’s more than a book—it’s a call for awareness, healing, and change.
-Corrie Gallien