The Invisible Black Woman

We throw the word rest around like it’s universal, like it’s the same for everybody. But for a lot of us, rest comes with fine print. Rest that ends in dread ain’t rest at all. You know the type—where you wake up more anxious than when you laid down, or where the pit in your stomach about Monday morning swallows the peace you tried to claim on Sunday night.

The truth is, dread has a way of moving in like an unwelcome roommate. You light the candles, fluff the pillows, try to center yourself—and dread comes barging through the door with all its luggage. Suddenly that nap you promised yourself? Interrupted. That Netflix binge? Shadowed. That silence you were hoping would feel like a balm? It turns into the loudest echo of your worries.

And here’s the thing: we normalize it. We tell ourselves it’s “just part of the grind” or that “everybody feels like this.” But nah. Everybody doesn’t. And even if they did, it doesn’t mean you should. Because rest—real rest—isn’t just about shutting your eyes. It’s about feeling safe enough to let go, if only for a moment.

Think about it: how many times have you woken up from a so-called “restful” weekend and felt like you ran a marathon in your sleep? That’s dread. How many times have you scrolled your phone to avoid thinking about the week ahead, only to find yourself still restless? That’s dread, too. And when dread is in the room, rest becomes a performance, not a practice.

We learn to perform composure while our insides are frayed. We’re expected to walk into Monday morning ready to battle office politics, microaggressions, and unspoken expectations—all while pretending we had the kind of rest that resets. But that ain’t rest. That’s survival.

So here’s the challenge: stop calling survival rest. Stop romanticizing exhaustion dressed up as productivity. Start reclaiming rest as something sacred, something that dread is not invited to attend. That might mean saying no to people who drain you, putting up boundaries with work that creeps into your weekend, or even admitting you’re tired of being tired.

Rest that ends in dread is counterfeit. And sis, you deserve the real thing. My wish for you? May your rest be real, your peace non-negotiable, and your mornings free of dread.

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