A Love Song to the Weary Ones
She rise, she run, she give, she go.
And somewhere between duty and daylight, she forgets herself.
She says she’s strong.
But strong don’t mean unbreakable.
Strong don’t mean “never tired.”
Strong don’t mean she don’t sit in her car some days,
Trying to remember what breathing feels like.
What if she—what if we—laid it down?
The cape, the cross, the expectation.
What if we let soft be our revolution?
What if we let stillness be our sermon?
What if we learned to rest—before the stumble?
Written by: Michelle Elaine Farley
The Soft Life Isn’t a Trend—It’s a Return to Ourselves
There was a time when rest wasn’t a dream deferred for Black women. When we weren’t running on fumes, surviving on coffee and prayer, giving away every last drop of ourselves until we had nothing left.
We knew how to pause, how to breathe, how to restore.
Our grandmothers understood it. Maybe not in the way wellness influencers talk about it now, but in the way they would:
Hum gospel songs while slow-cooking greens.
Sip tea and rock on porches in the thick summer air.
Tell us, “Baby, put your feet up. The world can wait.”
But somewhere along the way, we forgot.
We replaced restoration with resilience.
We let “strong Black woman” become both our praise and our prison.
In 2025, that stops.
This is the year we reclaim our mental health, our peace, and our right to exist beyond performance. And it starts with understanding the weight we’ve been carrying for far too long.
The First Time I Couldn’t Breathe
I don’t remember what set it off. One minute, I was moving—juggling 19 credit hours, an internship, running a newsroom as editor-in-chief, trying to be everything to everyone. A student, a leader, a girlfriend. The kind of 20-something who had it all under control.
And then I couldn’t breathe.
The walls of my college apartment felt too tight, the air too thin. My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to break free. The sound around me blurred into something deafening and distant all at once. Slow motion, like I was underwater.
I didn’t have the language for it then, but now I know: panic attack.
Years later, it happened again. But this time, I was standing in the middle of a Staples.
I was trying to print the last-minute copies of my mother’s obituary. Trying to hold everything together. Trying to be the one who handled it all.
And then, my body said no.
The fluorescent lights hummed too loudly. My legs buckled. My vision blurred. I couldn’t breathe. The sound of the store—cash registers beeping, footsteps on tile—became a dull roar in my ears.
I was falling.
And then—he caught me.
Like something out of a movie, my husband was there before I hit the ground. He held me while I sobbed—right there in the middle of Staples, between printer paper and office supplies, while the world kept moving like nothing was happening.
But something was happening. I couldn’t do everything.
I was never meant to.
The Burden of Being Everything to Everyone
We wear our strength like armor, but armor is heavy.
The weight of being the fixer, the provider, the caretaker, the backbone of families and entire movements—it has consequences.
Black women are twice as likely to experience high levels of stress and anxiety but less likely to receive mental health care.
We are more likely to experience insomnia, chronic fatigue, and stress-induced illnesses.
The silent battles we fight—microaggressions at work, generational trauma, the pressure to be “the one who makes it”—don’t just disappear. They settle in our bodies.
The body always keeps score. And if we don’t address the root, the symptoms will never stop coming. But healing isn’t just about knowing the problem—it’s about finding the way out.
Rest is a Revolutionary Act—And We Need a Blueprint
Rest is not laziness.
Rest is our inheritance.
But we have to unlearn the guilt that comes with it.
If you need permission to rest, let this be it.
And if you need guidance on how, start here:
Must-Read Books on Rest & Healing by Black Authors
Try These Holistic Stress Remedies
Herbal Adaptogens: Ashwagandha and Rhodiola help balance stress hormones.
Magnesium for Anxiety: Many Black women are magnesium deficient, which can increase anxiety and muscle tension.
CBD & Chamomile Tea: Natural ways to ease anxiety without medication.
Action Step: Create a wind-down routine at night. Ditch the scrolling. Brew a cup of calming tea. Let your nervous system reset.
Five Ways to Prioritize Mental Health in 2025
1. Normalize Saying “No” Without Guilt
You don’t have to be everywhere, for everyone, all the time. “No” is a full sentence.
Action Step: If it’s not a yes that excites you, it’s a no.
2. Find Your Healing Circle
We heal in community. Whether it’s a sister circle, a wellness retreat, a book club, or a text thread of women who lift you up—find your people.
Action Step: Start a weekly check-in with a trusted friend. Hold each other accountable for rest, joy, and emotional care.
3. Unplug and Unfollow What Drains You
Social media can be empowering, but it can also be exhausting. If a page makes you feel less than, angry, or drained—mute it, unfollow it, block it.
Action Step: Curate your feed with accounts that inspire, educate, and uplift.
4. Make Therapy a Regular Thing
Not just for crisis moments. Therapy is for maintenance.
Action Step: Start with one session a month. Find a therapist through BetterHelp or Therapy for Black Girls.
5. Prioritize Black Joy
Not just survival. Not just making it. But real, unfiltered, belly-laughing, soft-life joy.
Dance like nobody’s watching.
Romance yourself.
Go outside and feel the sun on your skin.
Reclaim play—paint, sing, journal, be creative just for you.
Action Step: Schedule joy the way you schedule work.
Final Thoughts: 2025 is the Year We Choose Ourselves
There is no trophy for burnout.
No gold star for self-sacrifice.
No award for running on empty.
You are worthy of rest.
You are deserving of ease.
You are not just what you produce.
Let’s make 2025 the year we finally stop surviving—and start living.
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