The Invisible Black Woman

There’s a subtle pressure that shows up after rest. After time away. After a pause, a holiday, a season of quiet, or a moment where you finally put something down. It’s the pressure to return at full speed, as if rest must be followed by reassurance. As if stillness requires an explanation.

But it doesn’t.

You don’t have to rush to prove you’re back because nothing about you disappeared when you slowed down. Your value didn’t evaporate. Your relevance didn’t expire. Your purpose didn’t go on pause.

What did happen, though, is that your nervous system finally got a say.

We live in a culture that treats re-entry like a performance. Emails answered immediately. Calendars filled quickly. Energy restored overnight. The expectation is that rest should make you more productive not more discerning. But real rest does the opposite. It teaches you what no longer deserves your urgency.

And that can feel uncomfortable.

For many of us, returning has historically meant resuming responsibility without renegotiation. Carrying the same emotional labor. Absorbing the same expectations. Proving resilience instead of honoring recovery. But coming back doesn’t mean coming back the same.

This is an invitation to re-enter with intention. To notice what your body is ready for and what it’s not. To let your pace be guided by regulation, not fear of being left behind.

Because speed is often a response to anxiety, not alignment.

If you find yourself wanting to move fast, ask why. Is it excitement or pressure? Is it clarity or conditioning? There’s a difference.

You’re allowed to start slowly. You’re allowed to ease into your days. You’re allowed to take your time responding, deciding, committing. Nothing meaningful requires you to abandon yourself at the starting line.

Today doesn’t need proof. Your presence doesn’t need validation.
Your return doesn’t need a dramatic entrance.

Let the day meet you where you are. Let your body guide the rhythm. Let yourself arrive fully before you offer anything outward.

You’re back, not because you announced it, but because you’re here.

And that’s more than enough.

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