
No Space for Grief: How Work Demands Productivity During Times of Chaos
On Election Night 2016, the projections for a Clinton win were all but certain. I was tired and went to bed. I woke up the next morning and couldn’t believe what had transpired overnight. I had so many questions. I understood what had happened, but how—and why? And like most Americans, I questioned the validity of the Electoral College and wondered if, in a modern democracy, this system was still needed. Over the next four years, I would awaken with a small amount of dread, wondering what might have been tweeted overnight to endanger the country, Black folks, and other people of color.
In 2020, there would be no sleep on election night. I did not want to wake up to another nightmare. When the election was called for Mr. Biden, I sighed and was grateful that decency was returning to our nation’s highest office. And maybe, we could begin healing the soul of America. Considering the country’s history, that was no small feat.
On Election Night 2024, I knew we had lots of hurdles to overcome, but surely, the country would choose a path towards inclusivity, economic stability and growth, and even a bit of joy. I was wrong. Ninety-two percent of Black women and 77 percent of Black men felt the crushing weight of being wrong.
I couldn’t believe it.
I knew exactly what this win meant.
I knew to whom this action was directed.
It was crystal clear that voting against one’s interest was far better than equity for all Americans.
And I vacillated between rage and grief.
But all that would have to wait.
I would have to clock in for work because the world didn’t stop.
It was business as usual and I went through my day dazed.
A young coach addressed the team and said, “The election is over…your candidate may have won…your candidate may have lost…get over it, and let’s get back to work.”
Until that moment, I’d been withdrawn, going through the motions. But when he said, ‘Get over it,’ immediately rage returned.
The big bosses couldn’t understand why productivity was down and why guests weren’t as responsive.
Later that evening, management seemed to realize what should have been obvious all along—part of the population was grieving and not in a mood to buy, and some employees were in a state of disbelief.
I was one of them.
But there was no time to stop and grieve.
There was no time to huddle with my sister friends—to cry, scream, and make sense of it all. No time to process the anger and disbelief. Grief had to wait because there was work to do, a GDP to contribute to, and a clock to punch. If paid mental health days are considered a luxury then I was broke. I’ve come to understand that capitalism is a cruel, insatiable taskmaster.
And that has been the truth for Black folks since enslaved people won their freedom in 1865. Each horrific event after another is met with no respite for the community. No time to mourn lost lives in Tulsa. No time to process the impact of Jim Crow. No time to heal after Trayvon Martin and Sandra Bland.
This legacy of suppressed grief persists today, woven into the fabric of how Black Americans are expected to endure and keep going. But change is happening. The 92 percent are resisting with collective rest, and in doing so, they’re challenging a system that demands we keep going, no matter the cost.
The Cost of Sacrifice: Reclaiming Rest as Resistance
I was 12 when my Momma became a single parent of two girls.
My parent’s marriage finally crumbled beyond repair and she found herself parenting two girls by herself.
I never saw my Momma rest.
Never.
She was always on the go.
Right up until the time she had the first of 12 strokes.
My Momma, Bishop Gwendolyn Mack was an amazing woman. She endured some pretty hard things and I realized just how hard after her passing.
Even though we lived in Inglewood, California—not far from the beach—we never went. For Momma, it probably didn’t even feel like an option. Our lives revolved around church, work, and school. While there were moments of laughter and joy, they were just that—pockets in a life where rest felt like an impossible luxury. As a single parent and an only child without a support system, she didn’t have time for beach days, or time to grieve her marriage or the loss of her father. She just kept pushing.

But Momma’s story isn’t unique—it reflects a broader reality for countless Black women, where rest and healing are rarely an option.
Like so many Black women, she carried the weight of expectations—not just for herself but for her family, her community, and her faith. Rest wasn’t just overlooked; it was a privilege she couldn’t afford to claim.
Momma’s strokes came in sets of three.
The first three were minor and she was back to work in a few weeks.
The next set of strokes would be life-altering. They hindered her speech and mobility but in no way extinguished her desire to serve others.
The last set of strokes; well, there would be no recovering from those.
She passed away a few months later.
Momma had so much more to give, but her body, worn down by years of conditioned martyrdom and the weight of inadequate support, simply gave out before she was ready. She was taught, like so many women in the church, that everyone else’s needs came before her own. Rest, healing, and even grief were luxuries she couldn’t afford—not because she didn’t deserve them, but because no one had ever shown her how to claim them. And without a network to lighten the load or remind her to breathe, the burden of always being ‘enough’ for everyone eventually took its toll.
I see so much of myself in my Momma—talented, passionate, driven, and a predisposition for running myself ragged.
As I look at my own life, I see the patterns she passed down—working harder, running faster, and never stopping to breathe. But what I’m learning now is that rest is more than recovery; it’s a reclamation of time, of joy, of humanity. Rest must be an intentional act—carved out of the busyness of life. It’s not a luxury but a necessary rebellion against systems that would deny us.
The 92 Percent Are Resting: A Lesson in Reclaiming Power
Being a Black woman in the U.S., I know how it feels to be the only one in the room. Whether on the job, in church, or in the neighborhood, our presence often stands out, bringing discomfort to others and isolation to us. You develop a sixth sense for microaggressions, and over time, the separation from community takes an emotional toll.
Now imagine a devastating loss—not just a political one, but one that sets a nation back decades—instantly introducing you to your tribe. That’s the story of the 92 Percent: the Black women who supported Kamala Harris in her historic presidential bid. Her loss was painful, and we all knew what it meant for us and the country. But in the midst of that grief, we found each other, and suddenly, we weren’t alone.
This is the 92 Percent.
And we have declared a season of rest.
Black women have been the backbone of movements and rarely receive the credit. It was Black women who undergirded the Black Panther Party. Mrs. Coretta Scott King was not only Dr. King’s wife but she too was an activist in the fight.
Black women have saved elections, and our work and votes are simply expected—taken for granted, like the air we all breathe.
But the 92 Percent have declared an undetermined period of rest.
This collective refusal reverberates across social media in refrains like, ‘Don’t ask us to do anything,’ and, ‘Get somebody else to do it.’
This collective refusal has shaken societal expectations to their core.
With our tattered capes retired, we are learning what it means to rest—a new concept for most of us. We’re leaning into self-care and focusing on our communities. With our attention less divided, we are even more powerful because of our narrowed focus.
Khaliah O. Guillory, also known as The Sleep Expert, speaks to the historical and cultural weight of rest, saying:
“Our ancestors were told when they could rest; however, our generation has the privilege to rest on demand—and yet, we often choose not to. We must demystify the braggadocious culture of ‘team no sleep’ and the ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead’ mentality. That mindset is rooted in an enslaved way of thinking.”
For generations, we’ve been expected to save everyone else. But now, that expectation is being dismantled.
Our collective rest has reshaped even major movements. The Women’s March, a platform historically fueled by Black women’s labor and leadership, had to rebrand as the People’s March in response to our striking absence.
Black women are facing criticism, both online and in real life, for choosing peace. A 92 Percenter on Threads recounted an encounter in a store. Proudly wearing a shirt that declared her rest, she was approached by a woman who asked, ‘You’re really not going to do anything?’ Her response was simple yet powerful: ‘I’m resting and building my community.’
Michelle Obama’s decision to forgo attending President Jimmy Carter’s funeral was not a reflection on the man himself, whose legacy of kindness and service resonates with so many. Instead, it was a refusal to endure the proximity of a figure who had antagonized her family for decades. Her choice is a masterclass in rest as resistance—prioritizing her peace and setting a revolutionary example of saying no to societal expectations.
Her choice reminds us all that saying no to societal expectations isn’t just an act of self-care; it’s a revolutionary form of resistance.
This is rest as resistance—and the world is stunned.
Some say that this rest is selfish, and have even been called “stupid” online. “What about your own families? This impacts your family too?” That’s true, but you no longer have Black women leading the charge. Again, “get somebody else to do it—we’re resting.”
Still, Black women are not a monolith. One Thread’s poster said that the 92 percent have one thing in common, we voted for Kamala. Our ideologies and faiths differ.
Former Georgia State Representative Stacey Abrams recently encouraged the 92 percent to remain engaged, highlighting the tension between collective rest and calls for continued activism.
With this current administration doing everything Kamala and former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton said he would do, times are scary. Yes, there’s some buyer’s remorse happening and people are looking to Black women to save the day.
To that, the 92 Percent firmly reply: ‘Find somebody else to do it. We’re resting’.
The 92 Percent have redefined what it means to reclaim power—not through endless labor, but through the radical act of rest. As we reclaim rest and rebuild our communities, we also invite others to reflect: What systems in your life demand productivity at the expense of your humanity? And how can we collectively create space for healing, restoration, and joy?
On March 10, 2025, we will have a powerful opportunity to embrace this truth together. The National Day of Rest for Black Women is a call to reflection, restoration, and honoring the legacy of Harriet Tubman. A woman whose strength, courage, and sacrifices remind us that rest is not a luxury—it’s our birthright and a necessity for liberation.
Let this day be a collective moment to pause, recharge, and reclaim our well-being. Take time off, reconnect with yourself and your community, and honor Harriet Tubman’s vision for freedom and joy. Together, let’s make space for healing and empowerment—one act of rest at a time.
How will you resist the systems that deny you space to heal? And how will you join us in reclaiming rest on March 10?
Lisa N. Alexander is the author and founder of This Woman Knows and What Million-Dollar Brands Know. She is an award-winning filmmaker, director, producer, and writer and is the owner of PrettyWork Creative.
Grief and rest should not be an inconvenience, a forced option or permission given to us after pleasing and performing for the taskmasters who sign our paychecks along with living up to the expectations of family and friends and all whom we care for. Black women continue to be Big Momma to everyone in the mix and everyone that comes to the mix. Why? Because the soul of the black woman is not to turn anyone away. We’re nurturers. Yet there’s no time to nurture ourselves. No time for us to rest, relax and release. Who is Big Momma for us? The need to be able to grieve and rest is a necessary part of the human experience. If that’s true….and it is….why are black women in particular viewed as less than human without the uncontrolled space and opportunity to grieve and rest but rather slow walk to a certain death….yes physically but yes mentally, emotionally, financially, and spiritually. And….we continue to die ….. slowly.
Linda, thank you for sharing. A good number of us tend to lean heavy into being nurturers. Part of me wonders if this was forced upon us during times of enslavement. Would this be so if things had been different? Always kind, mind you but nurturers to the point of self-neglect. Things to ponder as we choose rest and self-care because we can and absolutely should do so.
I’m most grateful for the last four years. Not because it has been financially lucrative — far from that. But because I have reclaimed rest as a priority. I refuse to rush myself so I’m on anyone’s “time;” I gave myself permission to be late. I answer my phone and return calls when I have time; I gave myself permission to prioritize conversations with myself and God. I could go on and on about what practices are now habits that, at their core, prioritize rest. How did we get here? Working professionally from 14 to 34, teaching for the next rung in the ladder, on-call for all family and friends and anyone placed in my path, striving to meet and beat any standards set before me. That’ll do it. Now, I’ve reset my nervous system, making the tomfoolery that is the news much easier to navigate.
Cris, I’ve watched you over the past year and you are committed to life and rest on your terms and that’s respectable. And that “striving to meet and beat any standards set before me” hit hard because it’s internal for many of us. It’s the thing we’re taught…twice as good…earn half as much. So we earn all the degrees and try all the doors and shimmy up all the ladders…utterly exhausted. Here’s to heavily leaning into rest and life on your terms.