The Invisible Black Woman

This gon’ be short and sweet and the reason will be self-evident. But the important part is I still showed up and wrote. And that, in my book, will always be the ultimate W…

Chronic pain doesn’t knock politely—if it knocks at all. It doesn’t send an RSVP or wait for a convenient time to show up. It just barges in, uninvited, and makes itself at home in your body like it owns the place.

For me, it’s been hitting especially hard these past few weeks. Every movement I make is literally painful. I feel so incredibly heavy, weight issues aside. And, of course, whenever the unwashed heaux decides to make an appearance, she always wanna bring a sidekick. Today she’s brought brought Emo with her, as in emotional pain. He whispers doubts, nudges you toward giving up, and plays dirty with your willpower.

But despite how I’m feeling today, I’m determined to push through because—as I once famously told my boss—my fingers still work.

But to be clear, pushing through pain doesn’t mean ignoring it. It means acknowledging its presence while refusing to let it write the whole story (yes, I threw in a pun). Some days, pushing through looks like ticking off every task on my to-do list, even if I’m crawling to the finish line, as is the case this very moment. Other days, it looks like giving myself grace to rest without guilt.

I’ve learned that chronic pain has a way of teaching lessons you didn’t ask for. It forces you to redefine strength—not as invincibility but as the ability to keep going in whatever way you can. It teaches you to celebrate the small wins: getting out of bed, showing up to work, smiling when you don’t feel like it.

For those of us who carry pain like the permanent backpack we never asked for, there’s no choice but to push through. Because the world doesn’t stop for us, and life doesn’t pause until we feel better.

But here’s what I remind myself on the hardest days: I’m still here. I’m still standing. And every step I take is a win, no matter how small it might look to anyone else.

To anyone else living with chronic pain—physical, emotional, or both—I see you. I know how hard it is to show up when your body feels like it’s betraying you. But you’re still here, and that’s no small thing.

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