Treatmebetta

As Kamala Harris’ historic run for president heats up, the pressures on Black women to both contribute to her eventual success a la political savior — and to achieve greatness on our own — have reached new heights. Of course, these pressures aren’t new; they are deeply rooted in systemic racism, cultural expectations, and the ever-present stereotype of the “strong Black woman.” But as Black women are increasingly called upon to lead — social movements, families, communities — many are simultaneously battling exhaustion, burnout, and the physical and mental toll of overwork. 

The conversation around rest, or our lack thereof, is becoming more urgent, as more Black women realize that rest isn’t a luxury — it’s a necessity for our survival. Some even say that rest is a profound form of resistance.

The Historical Context of Overwork

For centuries, Black women have been conditioned to work tirelessly, often sacrificing our own well-being for the sake of others. This expectation is embedded in the legacy of slavery, where Black women were valued solely for their capacity to produce labor — on our own and in the form of new life/slaves. Not working up to capacity would often result in severe punishment, and this created a culture where rest was not only frowned upon, it was dangerous. 

Fast forward to today, and this historical trauma has evolved into a societal norm where Black women are expected to be resilient, unbreakable, and constantly “on.” The pressure to outperform peers, coupled with the need to break through the glass ceiling, has led to a toxic work culture that often places Black women in high-stress, high-stakes situations without the necessary support. Many know these as “glass cliff” situations, where Black women are placed in leadership roles during organizational crises, only to be scapegoated if things don’t improve.

The situation isn’t much different outside the workplace. Black women are expected to be constantly “on” for their families as well. And if we’re not available, even eager to lend a hand — or two hands, an arm and a leg — we’re met with voluble criticism and guilt inducing disappointment. The expectations are constant, deep, and to my mind abysmally unfair. But it is what it is.

We’ve been well conditioned to help without thought. And when we don’t jump immediately into action, regardless of the strain to our personal stores and other resources, it’s as though we have produced the sharpest, shiniest knife, and with gleeful disregard, cut the throat of that poor, helpless person who appeared before us in need. 

That’s nonsense, obviously. But this is very often exactly the way Black women are made to feel when we don’t readily help others. Not feeling well? So? We need help. Have a word or school deadline that you need to meet? So? We need help. Want to know why our needs and wants are often ignored yet you’re always asking for more? So? We need to rally the Black vote! And it’s convenient now for you to help us win, so do.

The Modern-Day Reality of Rest

The physical and mental toll of these expectations is immense. Stories of Black women ending up in emergency rooms with stress-induced health issues, like arrhythmia and panic attacks, are becoming far too common. The strong Black woman stereotype, which dictates that Black women must always be self-sacrificing and community-focused, exacerbates this issue. The guilt of prioritizing personal rest over professional and community responsibilities often leads to burnout, mental dis-ease and, in extreme cases, physical collapse.

And when this happens, instead of being offered help or support, Black women are often met with scorn. Instead of being a human being in need of rest, we become weak, lazy creatures who have selfishly allowed ourselves to get run down. And once we can no longer be of service, or we are no longer useful, we become unsightly burdens to be harshly dismissed. It’s rare that we receive the helping hand we’re perennially expected to extend.

Fortunately, there is a growing movement among Black women to actively reclaim their right to rest. High performing, influential figures like Simone Biles and Naomi Osaka who have publicly prioritized their mental health over their careers, have sent a powerful message to Black women everywhere: It’s okay to rest. 

This shift in mindset is not just about taking a break; it’s about challenging the deeply ingrained belief that Black women must always be in service to others — at the expense of our own needs and well being.

Rest as a Form of Resistance

The Nap Ministry, founded by Tricia Hersey, has been at the forefront of this movement, advocating that rest is a form of resistance against the oppressive systems of white supremacy and capitalism. Hersey’s work resonates with many Black women who are beginning to see rest not as a sign of weakness, but as a radical act of self-care and self-preservation.

In her book, Rest is Resistance: A Manifesto, Hersey challenges the notion that rest is a reward for hard work. Instead, she posits that rest is a fundamental right that has been systematically denied to Black women. Embracing rest, she argues, is a way to honor our ancestors, who were denied the luxury of rest. It’s also a way to reject the toxic hustle culture that values productivity over well-being.

Think about it. Who better to wear this mantle of constant work than the mule of the world, as American author Alice Walker once called Black women? Unfortunately, this pervasive agenda is not just upheld by white supremacists, it is perpetuated by everyone of all races, Black, Brown or other.

The Role of the “Soft Life” in the Rest Movement

In direct response the concept of the “soft life,” has gained significant traction in recent years. As it encourages Black women to embrace ease, self-care, and intentional living. It is a direct counter to this dangerously inaccurate trope around the Black woman as super human. 

Despite how it’s often portrayed in social media, it’s important to understand that the soft life movement is about more than spa days, vacations, or anything else of a temporary or superficial nature. It’s about setting firm boundaries, saying no to overwork, and consistently prioritizing one’s own well-being over societal and familial expectations.

However, adopting the soft life is often much easier said than done. Many Black women struggle with guilt when they step back from their responsibilities, or deny others’ ready willingness to offload their responsibilities onto us. We hesitate because we fear that we are letting down our communities, families, and workplaces. This guilt is often compounded by the systemic forces that create an environment where rest is seen as a luxury rather than a necessity.

For example, Black women are frequently assigned non-promotable tasks in the workplace, such as organizing events or serving on committees that do not advance their careers but are expected of them to “prove” their commitment. These tasks, while seemingly minor, often require a ton of discretionary effort and energy, and they can add up and contribute to the overwhelming cognitive load that many Black women carry daily. 

Then, when we point out all that we’ve done, expecting thanks or well deserved promotions, consideration, and the like, we’re met with blank stares that seem to state quite loudly: That’s what you’re supposed to do. Why do you expect to receive something for your labor?

The Impact of Kamala Harris’s Presidential Run

As the race towards the 2024 Presidential election gains momentum, Kamala Harris’s candidacy marks a significant moment in American history. For Black women, this is both a source of pride and an additional layer of potentially unwelcome pressure as the spotlight on Black women, especially Black women in leadership roles, has now intensified. Harris, already the first Black and South Asian woman to hold the office of Vice President, represents so much more than just a political figure — she embodies the dreams, aspirations, and struggles of millions of Black women across the country. Further, her every move is being closely scrutinized, her decisions dissected and interpreted, not just for their political merit, but for what they mean for the Black community, and for Black womanhood.

Consider: The existing expectation that Black women must always be exemplary, must always overperform, and always “break barriers” is already exhausting. The fear of failure, not just for oneself but for what it might mean for the broader community, can be paralyzing, and that pressure can be immense.

Again, this pressure is not new. Black women in leadership positions, and often in society in general, have always been subjected to intense scrutiny. We’ve always been expected to outperform our peers while carrying the weight of our communities on our shoulders. The “strong Black woman” stereotype, while rooted in resilience and fortitude, can be suffocating. It dictates that we must be invulnerable, always poised to take on the world’s challenges without showing signs of fatigue. But this expectation is a double-edged sword. While it celebrates strength, it often negates the humanity of Black women, denying us the grace to rest, to be vulnerable, to simply be.

Harris’s candidacy, while a monumental step forward, brings with it the burden of representation. Every decision she makes is seen as a reflection of what Black women are capable of, what we should aspire to be, and how we should behave. This added layer of responsibility can contribute to the already overwhelming pressures that Black women face in our daily lives.

Yet, Harris’s run also symbolizes the potential for change. It challenges the status quo and potentially offers a new narrative — one where Black women can lead without sacrificing our health and well-being. It opens the door to discussions about how organizations and society at large can better support Black women in leadership roles, ensuring we have the resources, mentorship, and rest we need to succeed. If, of course, organizations believe in such things. 

The Myth of Perfectionism

One of the most insidious pressures that Black women face that actively contributes to our lack of collective rest is the myth of perfectionism. From a young age, Black girls are often told they must work twice as hard to get half as far. This narrative, while rooted in historical truths, has created a lasting, very toxic relationship between work and self-worth. The need to be perfect, to never make mistakes, to always be on top, can, and often does, drive Black women to the brink of exhaustion.

Perfectionism is a heavy burden to bear, which is ironic, since perfection is not a real thing. It’s a construct, an idea. Yet it fosters a fear of failure that can be a direct catalyst for some pretty unsavory outcomes, including overwork and burnout. Black women, in particular, often feel that any mistake we make will not only reflect poorly on us as individuals but on the entire Black community. 

And why not? If we dare have the effrontery to make a mistake, or a misstep, that’s among the first condemnatory things we hear, how our behavior reflects poorly on Black women as a whole. It’s another way to dehumanize us and remove consideration for us as individuals in need of support and care because the pressure to be perfect, coupled with the societal expectation to always be strong, leaves little room for rest, relaxation, or self-compassion.

Embracing Vulnerability

In the face of these pervasive pressures, the act of embracing vulnerability becomes as revolutionary as the concept of Black women at rest. Vulnerability, often seen as a weakness, is in fact a source of strength. It allows Black women to acknowledge our limitations, to ask for help, and to prioritize our well-being over the unrealistic expectations placed upon us.

Embracing vulnerability means redefining what it means to be strong. It means recognizing that strength is not just about endurance, but about knowing when to stop work, when to say no, and when to prioritize self-care. It means understanding that it is okay to not have all the answers, to make mistakes, and to take a step back when needed.

For Black women, embracing vulnerability can be a radical act of self-preservation much like rest is. It challenges the notion that we must always be on the frontlines, always fighting, always pushing forward. It creates space for us to heal, to relax, to be creative, and to engage in practices that promote self-discovery — not just community betterment.

Reclaiming Rest as a Radical Act

To truly support Black women, there needs to be a cultural shift that values rest as much as it does work. This shift requires challenging the deeply ingrained belief that productivity is the only measure of worth. It means creating environments, both in the workplace and in society at large, where Black women can thrive without sacrificing our health and well-being.

Organizations must take responsibility for the well-being of their Black employees by providing them with the resources and support they need to succeed without burning out. This includes offering flexible work schedules, providing mental health support, and creating spaces where Black women can connect with others who share their experiences.

Further, society as a whole must challenge the stereotypes and expectations placed on Black women. This means celebrating their achievements without expecting them to be superhuman, acknowledging their struggles without minimizing their experiences, and supporting their need for rest without judgment.

It’s important to recognize that rest is not just an individual act, it’s a collective one. The movement to reclaim rest, led by organizations like the Nap Ministry, is about more than just taking naps or getting enough sleep. It’s about challenging the systems that demand constant productivity at the expense of health and well-being. It’s about creating a culture where rest is seen as a right, not a privilege.

For Black women, collective rest means coming together to support one another in their journey towards self-care and well-being. It means sharing resources, offering encouragement, and creating spaces where rest is prioritized and celebrated. By reclaiming rest as a form of resistance, Black women can not only improve our own lives, we challenge the societal norms that have long denied them the right to rest.

Five Steps to Embrace Rest and Reclaim Power

For Black women looking to embrace rest as a form of resistance, here are some practical steps to take:

1. Prioritize sleep: Ensuring adequate sleep is foundational to good physical and mental health. Establishing a consistent sleep routine, one that is free from interruptions, can help reset the body’s stress response and improve overall well-being. Not to mention prevent us from looking haggard and broken down, and ensuring we have the energy we need to care for ourselves properly and thoroughly.
2. Set hard boundaries: In a culture that demands constant availability, setting boundaries is crucial if one is to find time to properly rest. This might mean turning off work emails after hours, saying no to additional responsibilities from family or friends, or carving out time each day for activities that are purely geared toward rest and relaxation.
3. Engage in restorative practices: Whether it’s through napping, meditation, or simply taking time to do nothing, engaging in restorative practices can help Black women to replenish their energy stores, and reduce the likelihood of burnout.
4. Challenge the narrative: It’s important to recognize and to reject the societal narratives that equate rest with laziness. Instead, Black women should embrace the idea that rest is a necessary part of the long-term plan for our personal and professional success and holistic well-being.
5. Support others: Encourage other Black women to rest and set boundaries. We should praise each other when we stand firm on our boundaries and reject practices and activities that are detrimental to our overall health and happiness. Where possible, create a community where rest is celebrated and supported, not shamed — even if that community is only composed of women or friends in your immediate circle. 

As Black women continue to navigate the pressures of leadership and the expectations placed upon us, the conversation around rest has become more important than ever. Rest is not just a personal act of self-care. It’s not just a natural body function that all humans are entitled to — especially when they bear loads as complex and heavy as ours often are. 

Rest is a collective form of resistance against entrenched systems that have historically devalued and deprioritized Black women’s lives, our wants, desires, and needs. By reclaiming rest, Black women are not only prioritizing our health and well-being — we are paving the way for a future where rest is recognized as a fundamental right for all.