“Black resiliency.”
Time and time again, especially during this month, I hear that phrase. The early days of me hearing it? Early on, it never bothered me. In fact I believed it to be true: despite everything we’ve been through, we as a people still rise.
But over time, I’ve heard Black people roll their eyes at the phrase:
“We always turn the other cheek.”
“I’m tired of being resilient.”
“That can’t be the only thing about being Black that we should be proud of.”
True. There’s countless things about being Black that should be celebrated. Resilience is one–but why do some cringe when they hear it? Perhaps because resilience often reminds us of trauma, of the trials we’ve been through and continue to endure. Maybe when we hear resilience, we also think of “resistance”–protest, fighting, conflict. And as a Black person, fighting–whether marching, educating, or just getting up for another day–is non-stop and exhausting.
I don’t want to reject resilience. Sometimes it feels like everyday anti-Blackness in all its forms confronts me. Sometimes those forms don’t just result in missed opportunities or hurt feelings, but in the loss of Black life.
Maybe we are just tired of being tired. Maybe we just want a day where we can simply be. When justice and peace exist for our community without a constant need for resilience. But who can predict when that will be? Until then, what’s the alternative?
What if resisting and maintaining resilience could look different? No blood, sweat, and tears involved? Maybe it can look and feel like coziness, calm, and energy protection. This isn’t just me saying this–organizations like The Nap Ministry opened my eyes to how rest can be a form of not only resistance but healing for Black people.
When I think about my ancestors, the ones who were forced into harsh and inhumane labor, what a gift it would be for them to know their descendants didn’t toil, but lived softly? What if, when asked what I’ve done for Black liberation, I could say:
I meditated.
I napped.
I lit a candle that smelled like home.
I chose my mental health over others’ expectations.
I read my favorite book.
I did something that made me happy today.
I ate well.
I’m not saying to ignore life’s harsh realities. I’m not saying to never do something hard. I’m also not saying being Black isn’t tiring. But I want us to embrace our resilience and frame it in a way that fills our cup and works for us.
To be honest? We do this already. Despite the pain, despite things that are outside of our control, what do we continue to do? We laugh. We love. We party. We work. We joke. We make history. We invite others to our circle, even if they don’t look like us. We find reasons to be joyful.
A year ago this month, my Black body was cut open by Black hands to give birth to my Black child. And I was surrounded by Black humans who held me as I rebirthed into a new version of myself–without fanfare or noise.
That sounds like beautiful resistance to me.
Kayla B(e) Writing 