The Invisible Black Woman

For Black women, rest often feels like that elusive parking spot downtown—technically available, but somehow never for us. From the boardroom to the breakroom, the classroom to the kitchen, we are expected to show up, show out, and show no signs of slowing down. The grind is real, relentless, and ruthless. And let’s be honest, if grind culture had a poster child, they’d slap our faces on the campaign and say, “Look how strong she is!”

But as countless others have said before me: rest is not a luxury. It is your right.

In a world that gets fat off our exhaustion and cheers for our resilience (but never our rest), choosing to pause is an act of rebellion. It’s saying, “Not today, capitalism!” It’s reclaiming time, health, and a little slice of sanity. And look, I’ll admit I’m preaching to the choir because I finally decided to take my own advice. For the next few days, I’m offline, unplugged, and diving headfirst into a weekend of nothingness.

Black women are 2.4 times more likely than white men to feel they have to prove their competence daily. DAILY. Let that sink in. We are out here working twice as hard to be seen as half as good, and then expected to smile about it. It’s like running a marathon with ankle weights, and then being told the finish line moved.

It’s clear: the tank is empty, the check engine light is on, and the nearest gas station is two exits away. But here’s the thing—rest isn’t coming to find us. We have to claim it.

Rest isn’t just about sleep (though, pun very much intended, let’s not sleep on sleep). Rest is saying no without the obligatory “but maybe later” excuse. It’s tossing your phone on Do Not Disturb guilt-free. It’s sitting on your couch in your oldest sweats, eating snacks, and letting the world spin without you for once.

And it’s radical. Why? Because when Black women rest, we disrupt the narrative. We reject the superhuman archetype that says we’re meant to carry the weight of the world without breaking a sweat. We say, “Actually, no thanks,” to being anyone’s workhorse.

When we rest, we’re doing more than recharging. We’re reclaiming. We’re reminding ourselves—and anyone watching—that our worth isn’t tied to our productivity. We’re showing the world that we deserve softness, stillness, and space just as much as anyone else.

And let me be real with you: rest doesn’t make the grind disappear. The emails, the to-do lists, the endless demands—they’ll be waiting. But that’s the point, isn’t it? They’ll wait. They’ve waited before, and they’ll wait again. The world won’t implode just because you decided to sit down for a damn minute.

If you’ve been waiting for a sign, here it is. Rest doesn’t need your permission, but you might need its forgiveness. It’s time to let go of the guilt, the worry, the “what if they need me?” spiral. Newsflash: they’ll figure it out.

And look, I know what it says about me that even as I type this, I’m thinking about everything I “should” be doing instead. That’s the conditioning we’re fighting against. But fight we must. Because the truth is, rest isn’t weakness—it’s power. It’s a tool, a weapon, and a gift all rolled into one.

For Black women, rest is about more than restoring energy. It’s about restoring identity. It’s about remembering that we are not defined by what we do for others. It’s about reclaiming the narrative that says we are worthy simply because we exist.

So yes, I’m offline. No, you can’t reach me. And no, I don’t feel bad about it. This long weekend is my sanctuary, and I’m sinking into it like the softest pillow. If I’m going to preach about the importance of rest, you better believe I’m going to live it too.

And to my sisters out there—whether you’re in sweats binge-watching your favorite show, taking a nap that turns into a sleep marathon, or just sitting quietly and letting the world be—you are doing the work. The radical, revolutionary work of rest.

Until next time, I wish you sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns, which are no less fictitious than the rest you absolutely positively deserve.