The Invisible Black Woman

I’m back, y’all. Fresh off a few days of deliberate disconnect. A hiatus. A pause. A do not disturb. And let me tell you, it was delightful. Sleeping in? Check. A lowkey schedule that required nothing but my presence and occasional decisions between coffee, tea, or other? Check. A sense of calm that comes from not being tethered to deadlines, emails, or “just circling back” messages? Oh, absolutely check.

But let’s keep it a buck: as good as it was, it wasn’t perfect.

I went into this break with all the right intentions: full-on rest mode, a commitment to myself, and a promise to leave the hustle and bustle outside my proverbial door. And yet, somewhere between the deep sigh of relief on day one and the “Wait, how is it already over?” on day four, I realized something. Even when you carve out the time to rest, it doesn’t always go exactly as planned.

For example, I didn’t sleep as deeply as I’d hoped. There were moments I felt like I was just sitting still rather than truly resting. My mind wandered—sometimes to good places, but other times, it started ticking off tasks I’d left behind. And, of course, that familiar guilt crept in a few times, whispering, “Are you really doing enough with this time off?”

I wasn’t. But I refuse to beat myself up about it.

Why? Because rest, like anything else, is a practice. And practices aren’t perfect. They’re messy, evolving, and deeply human.

I share this because I know I’m not alone in this struggle. Black women, especially, are taught that rest is a reward for doing it all. That it’s something you earn after being everything to everyone else. But when you finally get around to resting, it’s often after you’re already exhausted, frazzled, and too worn out to enjoy it.

And let’s be honest—when rest doesn’t go as planned, it’s easy to throw your hands up and say, “See? This is why I don’t bother.” It’s easy to retreat back to the grind, telling yourself that rest just isn’t your thing. But here’s the truth I’m leaning into: the fact that it wasn’t perfect doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it.

Let me say that again: imperfect rest is still rest.

So no, I didn’t emerge from my hiatus feeling like a new woman ready to take on the world. I didn’t hit some magical reset button that instantly fixed everything. But I did give myself permission to stop. To pause. To simply exist without producing, creating, or proving my worth. And that in itself is a win.

We have to stop treating rest as an all-or-nothing game. Maybe you only got six hours of sleep instead of eight. Maybe your afternoon off turned into a quick run to the grocery store because life be life-ing. Maybe your weekend of “me time” included one too many glances at your inbox. It’s okay.

Rest isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up for yourself in whatever way you can, and then trying again.

That’s the part I want you to hear, loud and clear: we try, we reach some of our goals, we refine, and we try again. Rest isn’t a one-time thing. It’s a relationship. A commitment. A process.

And just like any relationship, it takes work. Not hustle culture kind of work, but intentionality. Grace. The ability to say, “This didn’t go as planned, but I’m not giving up on you—or on me.”

When I think about this past week, what stands out isn’t what didn’t go right. It’s the fact that I carved out time for myself at all. That I resisted the urge to fill every moment with tasks. That I gave myself permission to say, “I’m logging off.”

And that’s a big deal, because the world is always watching, always demanding. Especially for Black women, who are often expected to save the day, show up for everyone else, and smile while doing it. Rest, for us, isn’t just restorative—it’s radical.

So as I sit here, easing back into my usual schedule, I’m holding on to this lesson: rest is never wasted. Even when it feels incomplete. Even when it doesn’t check all the boxes. Because every step we take toward prioritizing rest is a step toward healing, wholeness, and freedom.

I won’t lie—it’s tempting to look back on my hiatus and focus on the ways it could have been better. But I’m choosing to see it for what it was: a beginning. A reminder. A declaration that my well-being is worth fighting for, even if I don’t get it right every time.

And I hope you’re making that same declaration for yourself.

Because rest isn’t just about you. It’s about the example you’re setting for the people around you. It’s about modeling what it means to value yourself in a world that doesn’t always do the same. It’s about breaking cycles of overwork and burnout so that the next generation doesn’t inherit them.

So take this as a sing from the universe that it’s your time to rest. And if your rest doesn’t go perfectly, let that be okay. Because rest is a journey, not a destination.

Until next time, I wish you nothing but sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns, which are no less fictitious than the the kind of rest that restores your spirit—even if it takes a few tries to get it just right.