Rest Is Not a Reward—It’s a Right

For the Black woman who’s tired of being everybody’s backbone

Let me start off by saying something real bold:

Black women deserve rest, softness, and the freedom to say “no” without guilt. Full stop.

We are not built to carry every burden.
We are not emotional drop boxes.
We are not mules for other people’s comfort—not in our families, not in our friendships, and definitely not in the workplace.

But you wouldn’t know that by the way the world moves.
We’re constantly told to be strong. To be tolerant. To keep it cute and quiet—even when we’re being played in plain sight. Somehow, we became the ones expected to endure everything and still be grateful we were invited to the table.

And baby, that’s a lie we’re done swallowing.

💭 A Real Story About Hidden Disrespect

I’ll never forget this woman I once knew—sweet as pie when I first met her. She was my man’s sister, and at first, everything seemed cool. She complimented me, asked me about myself, smiled when I walked in the room. I thought I was part of the fold.

But once it got serious between me and her brother? The mask came off.

She made him late to our wedding. Didn’t speak to a soul at the reception.
But the real dagger was the birthday situation.

I planned a whole weekend of fun for the family. I’m talking thoughtful outings, some good food, a little something back at our apartment—things to make my man feel celebrated and loved. I thought we were all on the same page. Turns out? She had her own agenda.

She had secretly planned a gathering at an Airbnb—but didn’t tell me it was the party. Said it was just “something chill” for the weekend. So I came in thinking it was a low-key moment, only to find out it was the main event. And y’all—the vibe was off. No real connection. Just folks sitting around, watching TV like they were doing us a favor for being there.

No one acknowledged the effort I made. Nobody really saw me. And I realized then—I was in a room full of people I had tried to love, but who had no intention of loving me back.
And when I finally tried to talk to her? To sit down and speak woman-to-woman? She hit me with the classic shutdown:
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

That sentence? It’s cold. It’s careless. And it’s calculated.
And in that moment, I felt it deep:

I had been tolerating disrespect in the name of keeping peace that wasn’t even mine to hold.