The Invisible Black Woman

Can I let you in on a secret? Today’s one of those low days. Physically, I’m feeling it in every bone, every joint, every nerve, every muscle, and let’s be real—the mental fog that creeps in doesn’t make it any easier. I got news I’ve been dreading, the kind where you’ve had it on standby, looming in the background like that one tab you can’t close because you’re just not ready. Today, it finally landed. I’m avoiding opening the email like the plague. I’m just not ready.

But let me take you through the anatomy of a day like this—because this isn’t the first, and it sure won’t be the last. It starts in the morning, or maybe even the night before, when your body sends a little memo that tomorrow won’t be smooth sailing. You brush it off, take your cocktail of pain meds, set the alarm with a hopeful side-eye, and slide under the covers, knowing full well you’re probably in for a rough night.

Come morning, I peel myself out of bed with all the grace of a bear emerging from hibernation, but not because it’s spring. I’m moving in slow motion, each step feeling like a mission. I mean, you’d think I was trekking Everest just making it the few short steps to shower and get the day started. And it’s not just the physical aches. No, it’s the mental drag, like every cell in my body collectively agreed to hit the snooze button on functioning.

Then there’s the news. That email that’s been haunting the inbox. It’s the kind you half-prepare yourself for, but only in the way you sometimes prep for a rainstorm that threatens to ruin your perfect day—by hoping it’ll just pass on by. I sit down, glance at the notification, and feel that familiar thump in my chest. We all know this feeling, right? The one where your brain tries to negotiate with you: “Just leave it unopened a little longer. No need to jump in just yet.”

But here’s the thing. Avoidance has a funny way of making things worse. It’s like turning a blind eye to a slow leak in the ceiling. Eventually, that drip-drip turns into a puddle, and then it’s a flood. And today, it’s clear: the drip has become the flood, and here I am, standing right in the middle of it.

Analogy aside, for now, I’m choosing to let fear and avoidance win until tomorrow…

Now, if you’ve ever been in a low place, you know that well-meaning advice tends to rain down on you, too. “Stay positive.” “It’s all in your head.” Or the classic, “It could be worse.” The cheerleaders of the world mean well, but they might as well be handing out umbrellas in the middle of a hurricane. The truth is, sometimes you need to let yourself sit with the storm, to let it roll over you in all its messiness. Because pretending it’s not there? That’s just playing yourself.

So, today, I’m letting it be low. I’m letting myself acknowledge that I’m not okay, that I don’t have the energy to be anyone’s bright light or bastion of positivity. I’m tired. And you know what? There’s a strange freedom in saying that out loud. There’s power in admitting that I don’t have all the answers, or any, really. Today’s not the day for fixing or problem-solving. Today’s just for surviving, for holding on, even if by just a thread.

On the outside looking in, you’d never know. Because from all outward appearances, I’m carrying on as usual. Posts get published, emails get sent, and deadlines? They don’t wait for anyone’s low days. Life moves, whether we’re ready to keep up or not. So, like any well-practiced professional, I pull out the skill they never teach you at any workshop but that you learn in the trenches: compartmentalization.

I log into my platforms, queue up the posts, and send out the emails. I know how to keep things rolling. It’s muscle memory at this point. While one part of me feels the looming weight of the impending news I’m choosing to ignore, another part suits up, moves through the motions, and gets things done. Because if there’s one thing we “high-functioners” are gonna do, we gon show up even when doing so means you’re not all there. Sometimes, showing up just means you’re moving forward out of sheer will and habit.

I know some of you might be reading this, thinking, “Where’s the pep talk? Where’s the silver lining?” And believe me, I wish I had one. But I’m learning that part of being real, truly real, means showing up even when the pep talk fails and the silver lining feels more like rust.

Low days have a way of teaching us lessons that sunny days can’t. They strip us down, forcing us to confront the parts of ourselves we’d rather tuck away. The parts that don’t have it all together, that aren’t “fine” even though we say it a hundred times over. And I’ll be honest—it’s uncomfortable. Sitting with the mess, letting it be messy, is a level of vulnerability that doesn’t come easy.

But pain has a way of bringing those parts into crystal-clear focus.

Today’s lesson, if there is one, might just be about patience. The patience to sit with discomfort, to let things hurt, and to trust that it won’t always be this way. Some days, that’s the only faith I’ve got. And it’s not a flashy, Instagram-worthy faith. It’s more like a worn-out blanket you wrap around yourself just to get through the night.

Compartmentalization is survival. It’s saying, “I can deal with you later” to the things that threaten to pull me under. It’s not denial; it’s a pause button. Because while I need to feel this low, to sit with this heaviness, I also need to keep moving. The posts go up, the emails go out, and I get to distract myself by focusing on someone and something other than myself—on the surface, anyway. Because in this world, no one needs to know the whole story. And maybe they don’t want to.

But even on a day like today, when the weight feels like too much and the answers are nowhere to be found, I try to remind myself of one thing: I’ve been here before. I’ve faced hard news, low days, and the kind of exhaustion that makes you question every life choice up to this point. And yet, here I am, still moving, however slowly, however begrudgingly. That inner drive—yes, even if I can’t fully feel it today—is stitched into my DNA.

So, if you’re here with me in this low place, let’s make a pact. Let’s stop pretending that we have to have it all figured out, or that we need to “snap out of it” to make others comfortable. Let’s give ourselves the grace to not be okay, to sit with the weight of whatever’s dragging us down, and to know that this moment doesn’t define us.

Tomorrow may bring a little more light, a little more strength. And if not tomorrow, then maybe the day after. But today? Today, it’s okay to just exist. And if all you and I can do is breathe through it, then that’s enough…

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