The Invisible Black Woman

Full disclosure: today I posted Episode 5 of the TIBW Chronicles and as I listened to it, it had me full on going down memory lane. The below is where I wound up.

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Let’s talk about a particular kind of invisibility—the one where your contributions are noticed, but you aren’t. Where your work is acknowledged, but your worth is not. Where you’re constantly doing the most, but only recognized when someone needs something from you.

We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Busting our tails, going above and beyond, thinking surely, surely someone will see the value in what we’re doing. Only for the moment to arrive, and instead of being thanked or celebrated, you’re asked, “Where are the cars for the VIPs?”

Yes, that last one was a true story.

It’s one thing to be behind the scenes, to play a supporting role in something larger. That’s honorable work. But it’s another thing entirely when your efforts are reduced to a convenience for someone else—when the systems you’ve built, the hours you’ve poured in, and the magic you’ve created are overshadowed by someone else’s needs.

It’s a cruel irony that the better you are at making things happen, the less likely people are to notice. Your excellence becomes invisible because they’ve come to expect it. You’re dependable, so they take it for granted. You’re competent, so they offload even more. And before you know it, you’ve been boxed into a role you never agreed to: the help.

Here’s the thing: the role of the help isn’t about your title or job description. It’s about how people perceive you—or fail to. It’s about being seen as a means to an end rather than a valuable presence in your own right. It’s about being the go-to person for fixing problems, but never the person invited to the table where those problems are discussed.

For Black women, this dynamic is compounded by stereotypes and biases that pigeonhole us into roles of service and sacrifice—even when we’re the ones leading departments or managing teams. We’re expected to show up, smile, and save the day—without complaint, without recognition, and without room to advocate for ourselves.

This isn’t a new story. Black women have always been cast in roles of labor and servitude, often under the guise of “being a team player” or “doing what’s needed.” Our ability to endure is celebrated more than our actual accomplishments. We’re expected to show grace under pressure, resilience in the face of disrespect, and humility even when we’re carrying more weight than anyone else in the room.

And if you don’t fit into this mold? If you demand better? Well, now you’re the problem.

There’s a particular sting that comes with realizing you’re seen as the help. It’s not always loud or obvious. Sometimes, it’s the subtle ways people talk to you—or around you.

It’s the way someone else gets credit for an idea you brought to the table. It’s being left out of meetings that directly impact your work. It’s watching others reap the benefits of your labor while you’re left cleaning up the mess behind the scenes.

It’s being asked to work miracles but never being invited to the celebration.

Do you know what that does to a person over time? To be seen as necessary but never valued? To pour your heart, soul, and expertise into something only to be overlooked when it’s time to recognize contributions?

It chips away at you. It makes you question your worth, your purpose, and your place in the spaces you’ve worked so hard to occupy.

If I sound a little salty, it’s because I am. But that salt comes from years of experiences like this—not just mine, but those of the Black women I know and love.

We’ve been here before. We’ve watched as others climbed the ladder we built. We’ve seen our ideas dismissed only to be embraced when someone else repackages them. We’ve been told to stay in our lane while simultaneously being asked to fix what’s broken.

It happens in boardrooms, break rooms, and classrooms. It happens in tech, healthcare, nonprofits, and entertainment. It happens at every level, from entry to executive.

Because this isn’t about our capabilities. It’s about a system that was never built to hold space for us.

One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn is that the validation I was seeking wasn’t going to come from the places I was looking. The “thank you” from the CEO. The acknowledgment from colleagues. The promotion I’d earned but never received.

Those things didn’t come because the system wasn’t designed to give them to me. And no amount of overachieving was going to change that.

It’s not fair. It’s not right. But it’s the truth.

And I’m not saying this to be discouraging. I’m saying this because it’s important to name the problem. To call it out for what it is.

Because if we don’t, we risk internalizing the blame. We risk believing that we’re the problem, that we’re not enough, that we need to work harder or be better.

No. The system is the problem. The bias is the problem. The culture that allows us to be overlooked and undervalued is the problem.

Now, normally, this is the part where I’d share a lesson or a piece of advice. But not today.

Today, I just want to sit in this truth. To hold space for the anger, frustration, and exhaustion that comes with being “the help.”

Because sometimes, the most radical thing you can do is acknowledge your pain without trying to fix it.

So, if you’re reading this and it resonates, know that you’re not alone. Know that your experiences are valid. Know that your feelings are justified.

You are not just what you do. You are not just the person who makes things happen behind the scenes. You are a whole, valuable, worthy human being who deserves to be seen, heard, and respected.

And if the spaces you’re in can’t or won’t acknowledge that? That’s their loss—not yours.

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