Feeling hopeless and isolated as a Black woman in today’s America is a weight that’s just difficult to describe. It is a deep exhaustion that goes beyond physical tiredness—it is emotional, spiritual, and mentally draining. Some days, it feels like no matter how hard I work, how much I strive, or how much I try to rise above it all, there are forces determined to hold me down. And the most painful part? Often, it feels like I am navigating this struggle alone.
From the workplace, where I have to be twice as good to get half the recognition, to social spaces where my words are often overlooked or minimized, to the world at large, where simply existing as a Black woman feels like an act of resistance—it can all feel overwhelming. The injustice, the microaggressions, the burden of always having to be “strong”—it builds up. And sometimes, I wonder, does anyone really see me? Does anyone truly care about the depth of what I feel? Because it damn sure doesn’t feel like it during these fucked up times!
But in these moments of darkness, I remind myself: I am not alone.
Even when it feels like no one understands, there are sisters who do. There are communities of Black women who hold space for each other, who see and uplift each other, even in the midst of despair. And when I seek them out, I find that I am not isolated, but part of something powerful.
History tells me that my pain is not without purpose. My ancestors endured and overcame. The women before me fought battles that, although exhausting, carved a path forward. And I am still here, standing on their shoulders, carrying the torch, pushing forward—even when it feels impossible.
So how do I hold on to hope?
I remind myself that my existence is revolutionary. My voice matters, my experiences are real, and my presence is powerful. I lean on the community that surrounds me—Black women who pour into me, who remind me that I am not just surviving, but thriving. I prioritize self-care, not just as an act of rest, but as a radical act of self-preservation. And I hold onto faith—the belief that better days are ahead and that my journey has meaning beyond the struggles of today.
To every Black woman who feels isolated and hopeless, know this: You are not alone. Your feelings are valid. But also know that there is love, there is support, and there is community waiting for you. Seek it. Lean into it. And when you are ready, let your voice be heard—because you are worthy, and you are enough.