The Burden of Resilience

For centuries, the world has witnessed the strength of Black women. We’ve carried our families, communities, and legacies on our backs. We’ve marched through the fire, withstood relentless pressure, and somehow emerged whole on the other side. Society has named us "resilient"—and indeed, we are. I see it in the eyes of every sister I meet, in the stories of our grandmothers, mothers, and daughters. I hear the pride in being called resilient, in the quiet acknowledgment that we have survived things meant to destroy us. I honor that pride. I honor the resilience that has kept us alive.

But sisters, we deserve to be more than resilient. We deserve rest, peace, and healing.

The world often asks us to be strong without asking what it costs. It glorifies our ability to survive while too often overlooking the cracks in our armor—the emotional scars, the mental exhaustion, the wounds that need healing but are ignored. Our resilience is admired, but rarely are we given space to be vulnerable. Rarely are we offered the rest we so deeply deserve.

The Hidden Cost of Constant Strength

To be resilient is not always to be whole. And the truth is, carrying the weight of strength day in and day out takes a toll. Behind the proud smiles and courageous fronts, there is often a deep well of exhaustion. Black women are not only strong; we are often overworked, underpaid, underappreciated, and overwhelmed. The emotional toll of being both the backbone and the beating heart of our families and communities is immense. We give and give until there is nothing left.

This is especially true when we face mental health challenges or navigate substance use. Too often, we bear the burden in silence because we’ve been taught to “keep it together.” We’ve been taught that to admit struggle is to admit weakness—and we are never allowed to be weak. This culture of silence around mental health makes the weight even heavier as we suffer quietly, afraid to reach out, to ask for help, to rest.

But rest is not a luxury. It is not a reward for resilience. It is a right.

Rest as Revolution

I want to tell you something radical: Rest is an act of resistance. For Black women, rest is liberation. In a world that thrives on our labor, on our emotional and physical energy, choosing to rest is a defiant act of self-love. It says, “I deserve to exist beyond my capacity to serve others. I am worthy of peace.”

When we rest, we reclaim ourselves. We give ourselves permission to heal, breathe, and reconnect with our inner peace. Rest is not laziness; it is the body’s way of resetting, the mind’s way of recovering, and the soul’s way of finding its center again. To rest is to reclaim our humanity.

Imagine what it would look like for Black women to fully embrace rest without guilt. To find time to sleep, to meditate, to simply be. Imagine the mental clarity that could come from turning off the constant noise of the world’s demands. Imagine the healing that could take place in our communities if Black women could prioritize our own well-being without shame.

Beyond Resilience: Embracing Vulnerability

I honor those who find pride in their resilience, and I understand why we hold onto it so tightly—it’s been our armor. But I also want us to know that we are allowed to put that armor down. We are allowed to be vulnerable, to ask for help, to not have it all together all the time. Strength is not just in surviving; it is in knowing when to rest, when to seek support, and when to take a step back.

We often talk about “strong Black women” as if it is a badge of honor—and in many ways, it is. But the “Strong Black Woman” trope can also be a trap. It can keep us from addressing our pain, from acknowledging our mental health struggles, from admitting when we need help with substance use or emotional healing. It keeps us silent when we should be seeking community and care.

Our strength should not be the reason we suffer. We are worthy of care. We are worthy of being held up by others, of being nurtured, and of healing fully—not just enough to make it through another day, but to live with joy, peace, and purpose.

Mental Health and Substance Use: The Need for Care and Rest

For many Black women, mental health challenges and substance use are ways we’ve coped with the weight of the world. Substance use, for some, is a form of escape from the endless demand to be resilient. It’s not a weakness; it’s a signal that the weight we carry is too heavy. It’s a cry for rest that has gone unheard for too long.

But sisters, we deserve to rest. We deserve spaces where we can lay down our burdens and say, “I need help.” There is no shame in that. In fact, it is in those moments of vulnerability that true strength is born. The strength to heal, to recover, to find balance.

It is time we destigmatize mental health challenges and substance use within our communities. We must make space for Black women to talk about their struggles without fear of judgment, to seek support without shame, and to prioritize their well-being without guilt.

Rest is Our Right

I want every Black woman reading this to know: You deserve rest. You deserve peace. You deserve to take up space in the world not just as a source of strength, but as a whole person who needs care, compassion, and healing. We are not just resilient. We are deserving of joy, of laughter, of moments where we are cared for as we care for others.

Rest is not something we earn after resilience; it is something we need because of resilience.

As you move through your day, I want you to ask yourself: “Am I giving myself the rest I deserve?” If the answer is no, then it’s time to prioritize yourself, to reclaim your time, to recognize that your worth is not tied to how much you do, how much you give, or how strong you are for others. Your worth is in who you are—beautiful, brilliant, and deserving of all the care in the world.

Let us be bold in claiming our right to rest, to heal, and to exist as more than the world’s idea of resilience. Let us build a future where Black women are not just surviving, but thriving—where rest is not a revolutionary act, but a daily practice of self-love and liberation.

You are more than enough, just as you are.