The Invisible Black Woman

We all know that person, or group of people, who somehow managed to move into our minds without paying a dime. They set up shop in our thoughts, dictate our mood, and drain our peace like unpaid tenants who treat the place worse than they found it. The problem? We didn’t even hand them a lease. They just showed up, loud, messy, and entitled, and before long, they were living rent-free in our heads.

The truth is this: mental space is prime real estate. It’s not unlimited. It’s not cheap. It’s not something you can just keep giving away without consequences. Yet, so many of us allow people—co-workers, bosses, exes, “friends,” even strangers online—to occupy space they haven’t earned. And the toll it takes is way too high.

When someone rents space in your head, it looks like replaying an argument hours after it ended, stewing over a backhanded comment, or waking up at 3 AM wondering if you should’ve said something different. It looks like giving your energy to someone who wouldn’t even notice if you disappeared tomorrow. That’s not rent. That’s robbery.

And let’s be real. When you wouldn’t let somebody waltz into your home, eat up all your groceries, leave dirty dishes in the sink, and never contribute a cent, why do you let them do the same thing in your mind?

Here’s the thing about deposits: they’re about accountability. A deposit says, “I’m putting something down to show I take this seriously. I value what I’m about to enter.” People who can’t respect your boundaries, your time, or your energy don’t get to cross the threshold of your peace. Period.

So why do we let people stay? Because we think we owe them. We think, “Well, I work with them, so I have to care,” or “That’s family, so I have to let it slide.” But here’s a little secret: obligation without respect is exploitation. You don’t owe anyone your mental well-being.

There’s a difference between compassion and captivity. You can care about people and still refuse to let them drain you. You can set boundaries without being cruel. But if someone keeps showing you they can’t pay the deposit of respect, trust, and reciprocity? Eviction notice.

Evicting folks from your head isn’t easy. The lease may be invisible, but the habit is real. Start by noticing who takes up most of your thoughts. Is it the coworker who undermines you in meetings? The ex who moved on but still lingers in your imagination? The boss whose approval you crave but will never give?

Now ask: what are they paying me for this space? Do they bring joy, encouragement, or growth? Or are they just draining utilities without so much as a thank-you? If it’s the latter, change the locks.

Changing the locks might mean unfollowing, muting, or straight-up blocking. It might mean journaling instead of venting. It might mean therapy. It might mean prayer. It might mean walking away from the conversation you know will only go in circles. But whatever it looks like, it means reclaiming your property.

Imagine your mind as a penthouse suite: floor-to-ceiling windows, sunlight pouring in, everything curated exactly the way you want it. That’s what your inner peace deserves. Not freeloaders. Not squatters. Not critics who show up just to rearrange the furniture and tell you the colors are wrong.

Your thoughts, your energy, your imagination … it’s all luxury real estate. And the people who get access? They need to have earned it. They need to be able to afford the deposit of respect, kindness, and reciprocity.

So the next time you catch yourself ruminating about someone who doesn’t deserve it, stop and ask: are they paying rent? Do they have the deposit? If not, kindly but firmly show them the door.

Because the truth is, peace is too expensive to be squandered. And once you realize the value of your mental space, you’ll stop letting just anyone in.

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