What We Don’t See: The Unseen Pressure Juju Watkins Carries

This isn’t a comparison. It’s a reflection.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the unknown pressures that society puts on you as a human being — without even realizing the weight that it makes you carry. The pressure to show up strong when you’re tired. To stay grounded when you’re overwhelmed. To be seen a certain way, to be right, to be perfect — even when you’re just trying to breathe.

And that brought me to JuJu Watkins.

Not because our lives are the same — they’re not. She’s 20 years old, a basketball phenom, the face of a program, and a role model for a generation.

And me? When I was a single mom, I was a role model for one. Just one. My son. And I felt pressure every single day. Pressure to get it right. Pressure to be strong. Pressure to lead, even when I was learning as I went.

So I can only imagine what JuJu feels — carrying that kind of weight in front of the world.

I’m still a single mom. And every day, I wake up carrying a different kind of responsibility. Even though my son is grown now — and serving in the military — that pressure of wondering if I got it right never really leaves. It lives in me. It lingers. It follows me in quiet moments when I reflect on the choices I made while raising him.

And when he was home, especially through high school, those responsibilities rang loud every single day. Getting him to school. Staying on top of homework. Making sure dinner was ready. Monitoring who and what came into his life. Keeping him protected — physically, mentally, emotionally — even when I was tired.

But I was an adult navigating all of that — grown, seasoned, with life experience under my belt.

JuJu? She’s had to carry a different kind of pressure — the kind that comes with being a public figure while still growing up. Since she was a teenager, she’s had to carry herself with poise, maturity, discipline — like a finished product while still becoming one. That kind of weight? It’s not the same as parenting, but it’s just as relentless in its own way.

And that’s what made me stop and really think — because we don’t talk enough about the unseen weight that young Black women like JuJu carry. We see the numbers, the highlights, the cool factor. But we don’t always acknowledge the mental strength it takes to walk through it all with grace.

So big kudos to JuJu’s parents and extended family — because clearly, they got a lot right. That kind of character, that kind of steadiness, that kind of intentionality doesn’t come from nowhere. I know the pressures they’ve faced as parents are real, and I’m sure they’re still there. But this piece… this isn’t about them.

This is about her — JuJu.

There was an Instagram yesterday — just something lighthearted. USC Women’s Basketball players were asked to act out a touchdown celebration. JuJu walked up, grabbed the football, and slammed it down in the end zone. Fun. Simple. Nothing more than a 3-second clip of a competitor having fun.

But right after that, a parody account reposted it and said something like:

“You know how much strength it takes in that knee to throw a football like that? She’s gonna be ready. She’ll be back to start the season.”

Now look — I know it was probably a joke. Just a parody account being funny. It wasn’t meant to be taken seriously. It probably came from a place of love and excitement. And honestly, I get it. These parody pages and fan accounts? They’re fans. They love JuJu. They admire her. They’re having fun and trying to show support in their own way.

This is not a dig or a negative toward that parody account. I’m not writing this to bash anyone. I’m just trying to make a point.

Because even when it’s meant in love, it can still add to the noise. It can still feed the speculation. And that speculation — especially when it picks up speed — becomes pressure. Unseen, uninvited, and sometimes unfair.

And maybe JuJu saw it. Maybe she had a good laugh. I hope she did — I hope she saw it for what it was. But maybe not. Who knows.

Either way — that’s not really the point.

The point is that even these small, seemingly harmless jokes can land heavy when you’re the one carrying everything. Because what if JuJu did see it — on a day where she was tired from rehab? Or frustrated? Or just trying to be present in the moment, not in someone else’s assumption?

People don’t stop to think: yes, it’s all love. But it’s also pressure.
And pressure wears different when you’re already doing everything right behind the scenes.

But JuJu doesn’t flinch.

She’s intentional in how she moves. Intentional in how she posts. Intentional in how she plays. And more importantly, intentional in how she carries herself as a young woman first. That’s rare. That’s special. That’s not something you can teach — it’s something you have to survive your way into.

And the pressure? It’s not just athletic. It’s cultural. It’s social. It’s generational. It’s the pressure of being the face of a program, the role model for a generation, the pride of a city, and the hope for what women’s basketball can be — all while still being someone’s daughter, someone’s friend, someone just trying to get through her 20s.

And she still shows up.

Still shows love to her team. Still stays grounded. Still puts on for South Central, for USC, for herself. That kind of mental strength? That kind of composure? You don’t just find that. You fight for it. Quietly. Daily. Sometimes without applause.

And if you saw my USC Women’s Basketball Superhero video, you know exactly where JuJu fits in.

She’s the Woman King.

Through and through.

Not just because of her strength, but because of her spirit. The way she leads without demanding attention. The way she protects without needing credit. The way she walks in power, even when the world tries to shrink her down to a headline or a stat.

The Woman King isn’t just a character — she’s a symbol of courage, resilience, and responsibility. She’s the one who shows up for her people. Who stands tall through pain. Who doesn’t ask for permission to exist boldly.

And that’s JuJu Watkins at 20 years old.

She’s not just playing a game — she’s building something that lasts. A legacy. A blueprint. A movement. One that younger girls will watch and follow. One that honors the women who came before her and clears space for the ones who will come next.

She’s the Woman King in Cardinal and Gold.

And we are witnessing her rise in real time.

It’s the strength I carry as a mother.

The strength to be present, even when you’re unsure. To be joyful, even when you’re tired. To be wise, even when you’re learning as you go.

So when I look at JuJu Watkins, I don’t just see a basketball player.

I see a young Black woman managing pressure most people wouldn’t survive — and doing it with authenticity and power. She’s still growing. Still healing. Still evolving. But she’s doing it in front of the world with more grace than the world deserves.

Her greatness isn’t just about what she does with a basketball — it’s about how she carries what most people couldn’t, and still finds a way to shine.