The Invisible Black Woman

For 102 consecutive days, I wrote. I showed up every day, poured words onto the page, and honored a commitment I made to myself. Writing was my therapy, my ritual, my daily grounding moment. Whether the day was calm or chaotic, good or bad, I always found the time. Sometimes I’d write in the quiet hours of the morning, sometimes late at night. Some days I wrote joyously, other days out of sheer discipline, but I always wrote.

Until yesterday.

I didn’t write yesterday. And not for any dramatic reason. It wasn’t that life overwhelmed me, or that I doubted my purpose, or even that I consciously chose not to. No, it was far simpler: I forgot.

When I realized this, at exactly 12:32 AM, a strange calm settled over me. I didn’t feel guilt. I didn’t panic or fall into a cycle of self-recrimination. Instead, I felt a quiet, mild surprise: Oh, so I didn’t write yesterday? Huh.

What surprised me even more was the absence of guilt. For someone like me—someone who’s wrestled with perfectionism and the relentless pressure to do all the things, all the time—the lack of guilt was startling. For the first time, I wasn’t weighed down by the belief that missing a day meant failing entirely. There was no shame, no self-judgment. Just a recognition of what was, and then a quiet acceptance.

This moment felt worth unpacking. How often do we let guilt dictate our reactions to moments like this? When we break a streak, miss a step, or forget something we’ve committed to, how often do we let that moment define us? For years, my default reaction would’ve been to turn inward, criticize myself for slipping, and question my worth. But not this time.

Maybe it’s because writing every day for 102 days taught me something deeper. The streak wasn’t the point. Sure, I’m proud of it. It’s proof-positive of my dedication, but it was never about the streak. Writing daily was about showing up for myself, creating space for reflection, and giving voice to my thoughts and feelings. That hasn’t changed. Missing one day doesn’t erase the 102 that came before it. It doesn’t undo the growth, the consistency, or the meaning.

I think we often forget that. We place so much value on unbroken streaks—whether it’s writing, working out, meditating, or anything else—that we forget the streak itself is just a byproduct of a deeper commitment. When we miss a day, it feels like we’ve failed the entire endeavor. But that’s not true. Missing one day doesn’t invalidate the journey. If anything, it’s a reminder that the journey was never about perfection.

As I sat with this realization, I thought about how freeing it was to feel no guilt. How many of us carry guilt for things that, in the grand scheme of life, don’t deserve it? How often do we let guilt overshadow our accomplishments, distort our perspective, and weigh us down unnecessarily? We’ve been conditioned to believe that missing a step is a sign of weakness, that falling short means we’re less than. But that’s a lie.

The truth is, being human means we’ll miss a step sometimes. We’ll forget. We’ll stumble. We’ll take detours. And none of that diminishes our worth. None of that erases the work we’ve done or the progress we’ve made. The journey isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being committed, resilient, and willing to keep going—even after a pause.

Yesterday, I didn’t write. And yet, here I am today, sitting at my desk, showing up again. It’s not the missed day that matters—it’s what I chose to do next. That’s what defines the journey: the choice to keep going.

This experience also made me reflect on how I’ve approached other commitments in my life. How often have I let guilt drive my decisions, fearing that one misstep would erase everything? How often have I held myself to impossibly high standards, unwilling to give myself grace? And how often have I judged others harshly for their humanity, forgetting that we’re all imperfect beings navigating a messy, unpredictable world?

Learning to let go of guilt is liberating. It creates space for compassion—compassion for ourselves and for others. It reminds us that worth isn’t tied to productivity, perfection, or unbroken streaks. Worth is inherent. It doesn’t fluctuate based on how many days in a row we’ve written, exercised, or meditated. It doesn’t hinge on never making a mistake.

What if we gave ourselves permission to pause without guilt? What if we saw missed steps not as failures but as opportunities to reset and recalibrate? What if we let go of the idea that we have to earn our worth through flawless execution?

That’s the lesson I’m taking from this moment. Missing one day didn’t derail me. It didn’t diminish me. It simply reminded me to keep going.

And so, I will. I’ll keep writing, reflecting, and growing. Not out of obligation or fear of failure, but because it’s what I love to do. I’ll keep showing up, not because I have to, but because I want to.

To anyone reading this who’s stumbled recently, who’s missed a step or taken an unexpected detour: let this be a reminder that it’s okay. Missing one day doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It doesn’t erase the work you’ve done or the progress you’ve made. It’s just a pause: a moment to breathe, reflect, and choose to keep going.

So here’s to grace. Here’s to showing up, even after we pause. And here’s to letting go of guilt and embracing the freedom to be beautifully, wonderfully human.

Until tomorrow, I wish you nothing but sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns—which are no less fictitious than the perfectly imperfect human you are.