“All my life I had to fight.” That line from The Color Purple reflects a reality many in our community know all too well. Black women, Black men, and Black families are often navigating constant pressure, fighting for our children, our homes, our relationships, and within systems that were not built with us in mind. The expectation to keep going, to keep producing, and to keep proving ourselves has created a culture where rest is rarely prioritized and exhaustion is normalized. The question we do not ask often enough is simple: When do we rest?
Oftentimes, Black women work so hard that it takes multiple people to replace us when we leave our jobs. That reality has been framed as strength, although it is more accurately a reflection of survival. Many of us carry what can only be described as a workhorse mentality, shaped by passion, a desire to succeed, fear of discrimination, and environments where support has been limited or nonexistent.
I now understand that this drive is rooted in my DNA and ancestry. Igbo women are known for their strength, entrepreneurial spirit, and leadership in trade. That strength was never meant to be exploited. Over time, through the legacy of slavery and systemic inequities, what began as resilience was mistranslated into an expectation to work endlessly just to be seen, rather than to be supported or celebrated. We learn quickly that if we do not do it, it may not get done. As a result, we overextend ourselves, often at the expense of our nervous systems and our health.
My perspective shifted when I traveled to Africa through the Black Future Co-op. What I experienced there was not just a trip. It was a reset. For the first time in a long time, I experienced real rest. We did not just slow down. We stopped and learned how to rest. We sat with the trauma of the past without letting it steal our joy and allowed it to fuel the work ahead.
During that time, my body began to change. I lost weight. The pressure in my knees decreased. My skin began to heal. When we returned, people said we looked younger and were glowing. What we experienced was what happens when the body is no longer in a constant state of survival.
One of the most profound moments during that trip came when we were asked a question: How many of you are willing to die for what you believe in? The follow-up question changed me: Why not live for it? Living for what we believe in requires a different approach. It requires us to care deeply about our work while also preserving ourselves in the process.
There is also a distinction many of us have not been taught. Sleep is not the same as rest. The work we do in our communities matters deeply, but it cannot come at the expense of Black bodies. Not at the expense of our health, our lives, or our families.
If we are going to lead, build, and create change, then we must also choose to live for what we believe in, not die for it.