The Invisible Black Woman

I remember one of the first times I realized how deep I was in the burnout spiral, right before I went on extended medical leave. I’d been running on fumes for so long, I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. My body was screaming at me to slow down, and my mind was in this constant fog. Every morning, I’d wake up feeling like I hadn’t slept at all, but still, I pushed through, showing up to work like clockwork. But I wasn’t just showing up—I was overextending, taking on extra projects because I had no choice (or so I was told), and saying “yes” when every part of me was screaming “no.”

It finally got to a point where I knew I had to take some time off. That’s a lie. My mentor at the time did when I got on a call with her and she asked if I was okay. When I asked her why, she told me I looked horrible. I didn’t take offense though. I told her I felt horrible. She told me to take some days off immediately. I didn’t disagree with her: I hadn’t taken any proper days off for going on two years and the days I did, I still worked. I’d reached the proverbial edge, and if I didn’t take a step back, I wasn’t sure what would happen next. So, I scheduled a meeting with my boss to let them know I needed to take a few days of PTO. I was prepared for the usual resistance, but I thought maybe, just maybe, they’d take one look at me and realize how serious this was.

We got on a call on Teams, on camera. Honestly, the blind man on the moon could’ve seen how raggedy I looked. I explained how absolutely drained I was. That I needed a break, that I’d been running on empty for too long. I expected some level of understanding. After all, I was clearly not okay. But what I got instead was a question.

“But what about project x?”

That was their immediate response. No concern for my well-being, no acknowledgment of the burnout that was written all over my face. Just a reminder that the work—the never-ending work—was more important than my health, my sanity, or my ability to keep functioning. In that moment, it became clear to me that my well-being was an afterthought, if it even registered at all.

I think that’s one of the hardest lessons I learned there: how quickly you can go from being a person to being a resource. It’s easy to feel like your worth is tied to your output, and when the output slows down, so does the value they place on you. I was literally at the point where I couldn’t function, and all they cared about was the project I’d been assigned to. Not the fact that I was drowning, not the fact that I desperately needed rest. Just the work.

And in that moment, deep down I knew I had to do something different—I just had no idea my body was already way ahead of me, “plotting” to land me in the ER and on medical leave…

Fast forward to the next day after what was for, all intents and purposes, the best IOP session I attended… I was going to have to miss IOP because I wasn’t feeling well. That old urge to muscle through was right there, tugging at me, telling me I needed to push through like I always had. But then I remembered that conversation with my boss—the one where I asked for PTO and got flack for it. I remembered how exhausted I felt when I tried to push through it all, and how taking time off felt like a betrayal in the eyes of leadership. It was in that reflection that I knew I needed to listen to my body and prioritize myself, even if it felt unnatural after years of putting work first.

When I emailed Carrie to let her know I wouldn’t be in for IOP, I still had that old familiar guilt creeping in. I thought about the group, about missing out on the session, and about how I should just “suck it up.” But then I stopped myself. Why was I so quick to dismiss my own needs? Why did I always think it was okay to prioritize work—or anything, really—over my health?

A few minutes later, Carrie’s response was immediate and reassuring: “This is self-advocacy at its finest.”

She was right.

This was me taking care of myself, something I hadn’t been allowed to do—or felt safe doing—in my work life. In that world, self-care was seen as weakness. But here, in the safety of this group, it was celebrated. And for the first time in a long time, I realized I was finally learning what it meant to advocate for myself.

It took me back to that day when I virtually sat in front of my boss, depleted and asking for time off. I wished back then I could have told my-then self not to feel a shred of guilt for taking the time off I’d earned. But the reality is, toxic workplaces don’t just discourage self-care—they penalize it. They make you feel like you’re not pulling your weight if you dare to put yourself first. And that’s why burnout is so rampant in those environments. They don’t leave room for self-advocacy; it’s all about output, output, output, until there’s nothing left.

We off that now.

I’m not sacrificing my health for anyone or anything—not for a job, not for a project, and not for some imaginary badge of honor that comes from “pushing through.” I’m learning, day by day, to listen to my body, to prioritize my mental health, and to say “no” when I need to. And that’s a lesson I’m carrying with me, not just through IOP, but into every aspect of my life—including work.

What I’m learning is that self-advocacy isn’t selfish; it’s survival. And the more I practice it, the more I realize how necessary it is, especially in toxic environments that don’t offer real support. When you’re in a workplace that doesn’t value your well-being, you have to value it even more. You have to be the one to draw the line and say, “I’m not doing this anymore.”

There’s so much power in realizing that you don’t have to play by the rules of toxic workplaces. You don’t have to accept that burnout is part of the job, or that your worth is tied to how much you’re willing to sacrifice. Whether it’s in therapy or in the workplace, self-advocacy is about reclaiming your time, your energy, and your right to exist without constantly being in survival mode.

As I lay in bed, finally allowing myself to rest after taking a much-needed day off, I knew this was the lesson I’d take with me, not just for today, but for every space I walked into from now on: Self-advocacy isn’t selfish; it’s necessary.

We’re allowed to take up space in our own lives. We’re allowed to rest. We’re allowed to say no. And we’re allowed to prioritize ourselves, even in spaces that have tried to convince us otherwise.

Until next time, I wish you nothing but sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns, which are no less fictitious than the phenom you are.