The Invisible Black Woman

After the break, it was time for processing. Carrie’s leading, talking about motivation, setting up the energy for the session, and then she pulls up YouTube on the TV and drops in the Snoop Dogg affirmation track—yes, that Snoop Dogg. There’s a wave of laughter, half from surprise and half from disbelief, as we see Snoop go from his signature rap to doing self-care affirmations—with puppets.

“It’s a telltale sign,” she said with a grin, “of how much people can change and evolve over time.”

And with that, the beat kicks in: “I deserve to feel good. I believe in myself.” It’s oddly comforting, though a few of us exchange looks that say, “Is this really happening?”

One group member mutters, “How high was he when he recorded this?” which draws out more chuckles, breaking the ice just enough to get us going.

As the song wraps up, Carrie shifts us into the real work. “Let’s talk about the challenges around motivation,” she says, “especially when your mood is low, and everything feels like a mountain.”

People start to share, one by one. Someone talks about the cycle of staying stuck at home, feeling bad but not wanting to do anything—how it’s like being trapped, and even if they don’t feel better by going out or getting things done, at least they’re trying.

“If I’m gonna feel bad anyway,” they say, “I might as well try to do something.”

I know that cycle. The way energy feels like something you have to ration, like there’s never enough of it. Carrie chimes in, suggesting we should treat motivation like a thermostat, actively choosing to “set” our mood rather than just passively reflect it. “Be the thermostat, not the thermometer.”

Imma have to remember that for later.

Others share tips on grounding, shifting the vibe around you: upbeat playlists, short bursts of activity, even pairing dreaded chores with something enjoyable to make them more bearable. Someone mentions the power of stepping outside, just listening to the wind or the hum of traffic to feel grounded, to feel small in a good way.

“There’s so much going on outside of me,” they say, “it helps me remember I don’t have to carry it all.”

There’s something comforting in hearing these everyday struggles and small victories.

Carrie encourages us to think about gratitude as a way to shift focus. “What do you have, right here, right now, that’s solid? Something you can be grateful for, even if it’s small?” She tells a story about running a similar exercise with adolescents, where they’d fill a page with things they were grateful for—the more specific, the better.

“It’s easy to get caught up in what’s missing, but gratitude is a way to bring us back to what we already have.”

We all take a moment to reflect, and the air feels lighter, like each of us is sharing a small piece of our load. It’s not much, but it’s something.

As we wrap up, she prompts us with a final reflection, a question to carry into the new year: “What have you learned in 2023? What are you leaving behind?”

I think of the goals that didn’t turn out the way I’d planned, the countless times I felt off-track, and the quiet, unspoken pressure to always be pushing forward.

“I’m focused on leaving regrets behind,” I say finally, “and being kind to myself.”

She nods, her face softening. “That’s powerful. Leaving regrets behind and focusing on kindness—that’s a solid way forward.”

As we finish, she guides us through a quick meditation, helping us sink into stillness. I let out a long breath, feeling the tension slip away, bit by bit, and as I close my eyes, I hold onto that thought: kindness and presence, carrying them with me, into whatever comes next.

Sitting in that room, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the workplace burdens that had shadowed me throughout the year. There were the silent battles, the weight of expectations not just to deliver but to constantly prove I belonged, that I deserved the space I was taking up. Where I worked, there’s this unwritten rule: stay resilient, keep your head down, and absorb the hits without complaint. I’d done just that, but each hit had left a mark, shaping me in ways I was ready to let go of.

What I needed to leave behind was the internalized pressure to constantly “outperform” to be seen as competent. In the workplace, I’d learned to mask my true self, making myself smaller or less visible to avoid standing out for the wrong reasons. It was exhausting, draining every ounce of energy I had, forcing me to keep up appearances while battling my own self-doubt in silence. As I looked toward the new year, I realized that I wanted to step away from that forced conformity, to stop giving in to the subtle, unspoken rules of a system that demanded perfection without ever offering real support.

And then there was the relentless worry of how others perceived me. I was tired of second-guessing my every move, wondering if I’d somehow offended someone, or if my work would be dissected under a microscope, picked apart for the tiniest flaws. It’s a dance I’d mastered, knowing when to speak up and when to fall back. But I didn’t want to dance like that anymore. I was done living in the shadows of other people’s expectations, done letting fear dictate how I moved through my day.

So as the meditation wrapped up, I made a quiet commitment to myself. I’d walk into the new year carrying less—less weight from other people’s judgments, less concern for the perceptions I couldn’t control, and less need to mold myself to fit spaces that never felt designed for me in the first place. I wanted to focus on building spaces where I could thrive as I am, not just survive. A fresh start, leaving behind what no longer served me, and giving myself the room I’d always deserved.

As we wrapped up processing, the sense of release was palpable. There’s something about voicing the things we’re ready to leave behind that makes them feel lighter, as if acknowledging them in that space took away some of their power. Sitting in that room, surrounded by others sharing similar stories of resilience, I felt an undeniable shift. Letting go wasn’t just a thought—it was becoming real, something tangible I could carry with me into the new year.

Stepping out of that space for our break, I felt a resolve I hadn’t before. The weight of needing to “prove” myself in a system not designed to see me was one I’d carried for too long. In its place, I was choosing something simpler yet infinitely more profound: a commitment to my own growth, guided by my terms, my standards. The unyielding pressure to perform, to meet every unspoken rule, didn’t fit anymore, and I was finally ready to leave it where it belonged—behind me.

This time, as I looked ahead, I wasn’t planning a reinvention for anyone else’s approval. This was a step toward honoring my own voice, nurturing spaces where I could truly breathe, without the constant weight of expectations. And with each step, I could feel that weight lifting. Moving forward, I would focus on showing up for myself, building the kind of future that felt right—not just the kind that checked all the boxes.

I said a silent prayer that the universe would allow me to keep all the resolve I felt in that moment.