The Invisible Black Woman

Guess who’s back!? Back again! I’ll give y’all a hint: it’s not hubby.

I guess technically I should have said that yesterday, but before last night’s side rant and Hubbygate, we was in a whole situation. For those of you who’ve been rocking with me for a while, you’ll remember I had some—let’s just call them “moments” with an orthopedic surgeon not too long ago. It was one of those “life comes at you fast” situations. If you recall from Life be lifin’ and … Hard, this man hit me with the news that the cartilage in my knees was MIA, and before I knew it, I was online shopping for a mobility scooter like I was about to be the next contestant on “Supermarket Sweep.”

Looking back, I can laugh now, but trust me, it was anything but funny at the time. Panic had me in a chokehold. I went from zero to “we need to make the house scooter accessible” in 60 seconds flat. My mind spiraled so fast, I didn’t even give myself time to think through what was actually happening.

And that, my friends, is how panic works: it’s a beast—or a troll, depending on the day. It’ll have you reacting to things that might happen instead of dealing with what’s right in front of you. It’s not just about physical pain either. This beast shows up everywhere. In your career, in your finances, in your relationships. One minute you’re fine, and the next minute you’re Googling “how to get out of a contract with my job” because Karen from HR side-eyed you during the staff meeting.

We’ve all been there.

The funny part? The scooter never even made it out of the box. Hell, it never even made it to our place. I canceled it the next day. LOL. See, the thing is, panic-driven decisions will have you out here making moves that don’t make sense in the long run. They might get you through the moment, but eventually, you’ll look back and wonder why you spent so much time reacting to things that hadn’t even happened. That’s the part that messes with you. And trust me, I’m not just talking about scooters.

When the orthopedic surgeon started talking about mobility aids. My mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario. But, in work and in life, that’s not how it works. We can’t let panic or fear drive our decisions—whether it’s about health, career, or anything else for that matter.

There’s this study I came across a while back—and I’ll try and find it and add it here—that basically says living in a constant state of panic and stress literally rewires our brains. It messes with our ability to make decisions, to rest, to just be. And all I could think was: no wonder so many of us are walking around ready to snap! When you’re always in fight-or-flight mode, there’s no room for peace. It’s survival 24/7, and lemme tell you, it’s exhausting.

Panic, fear, stress—whatever you want to call it—it all bubbles up the same way. One moment you’re fine, and the next, you’re questioning every little thing. Did I send that email? Am I prepared for that meeting? Is that pain in my side something I should worry about? Before you know it, you’re spiraling, all because your brain has been trained to expect the worst.

And don’t even get me started on how panic looks different for Black women in particular. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve heard, “You’re strong, you’ll get through it,” as if “strength” is some magical fix for stress. Spoiler alert: it’s not. But the world would have you believe that we don’t crack, that we don’t get rattled. So what do we do? We panic in private. We smile, show up, and keep it pushing, all while juggling ten things at once.

But that takes a toll, doesn’t it?

I mean, I didn’t even tell hubby until yesterday what went down on Monday. And it wasn’t because I wasn’t all the way at DEFCON1 and this time, rightfully so. Because I wanted to spare him. I didn’t want him to panic, to worry. I somehow convinced myself that what happened was my fault. And, don’t get me wrong, it was to a point, but not in the way you think. But that will be a story for another day—promise!

So, where was I? Oh, right, panic and what it can do… There’s been a ton of research on what living in a constant state of anxiety does to us long term. Increased risk of heart disease, high blood pressure, weakened immune systems—basically, the stuff that can take you out, all because we’re too busy being stressed to breathe. And we’ve got doctors telling us to “relax”and “de-stress.” And most of us respond with, oh, okay, thanks, doc—let me just wave my magic wand and do that between meetings and deadlines. Let’s not even mention the microaggressions that’ll fly my way before 9 a.m. And yeah, those have been shown to rewire your brain. Look it up, y’all, no lie.

Look, I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been in fight-or-flight mode most of my professional life of late. The only problem with that? It just ain’t sustainable.

You can’t be in survival mode forever. Something’s gotta give, and usually, it’s your health. Do it long enough, panic becomes your default setting, and once you’re stuck in that loop, breaking out of it feels damn near impossible. But if there’s anything I’ve learned from this whole journey, it’s that the way out isn’t through running faster or working harder—it’s through stopping. Pausing. Taking a damn breath.

Easier said than done, right?

I read something recently about the rise of “stress culture”—how we’re all addicted to being busy. It’s like the busier you are, the more valuable you feel. But newsflash: burnout isn’t a badge of honor. Way smarter people than me have stated this ad naseum. Stress, panic, and burnout aren’t things we should normalize. And yet here we are, living in a world that tells us to keep hustling, to keep moving, no matter the cost.

But y’all, we deserve better than that—and last I checked, only sharks need to keep moving to survive.

We deserve to rest. To breathe. To not feel like the world is going to collapse if we take a day off or unplug for five minutes. We deserve to be seen in our entirety, not just as the strong ones who “can handle anything.” Because guess what? I’m not trying to handle everything. Some things just aren’t mine to carry.

And in those moments of panic, when it feels like everything’s crashing down, I’m learning to ask myself one question: What’s the worst that could happen? Usually, the answer is never as bad as my brain makes it out to be. Nine times out of ten, the panic isn’t real—it’s the result of years of conditioning, of feeling like we have to be on guard, like we have to be ready to put our dukes up.

Can I tell y’all a secret though? I’m so ready to be done fighting. To be financially secure enough so I can tell these jokers where to go and how to get there. But we ain’t quite there yet. That said, I will not allow panic to dictate my life. It may get my attention for a few hours or even days, but I won’t allow it to steal my peace much longer than that.

So yeah, that’s my mini sermon for today. I’m choosing peace over panic and action over just letting shit happen. Don’t do that either, please. Stay ready so you won’t have to get ready, you heard? Work hard to pay them bills but get some damn sleep. Set some boundaries and don’t be working 7 days a week unless two of those days are towards your passion/empire, or, you know, just some good, ole fashioned, unadulterated rest. Stop sinking all your energy to keep stacking coins for an employer that won’t think twice to drop you like a a bad habit if you’re standing between them and balancing they books.

Until next time, I wish you nothing but sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns, which are no less fictitious than the flat-out fabulous Queen you are.