When Your Soul Gets Tired of People

When Your Soul Gets Tired of People

People always praise Black women for being strong, but rarely ask what that strength is costing us. “I am not okay… but as a BLACK woman, I will be.”

There comes a point where a person becomes emotionally exhausted not because of one tragedy, but because of the constant accumulation of disappointments. People can only carry so much. Recently, I poured my heart into an event that was supposed to be about children. It was supposed to be about uplifting youth, encouraging them, celebrating them, and reminding them that they matter. Instead, grown adults made it about themselves.

That was the part that hurt me the most.

Not the stress.

Not the workload.

Not the exhaustion.

The selfishness.

Watching adults compete for attention while children quietly stood in the background reminded me of something painful about this world: many people stop seeing others the moment their own ego enters the room.

And honestly… I’m tired.

I’m tired in a way sleep cannot fix. At the same time all of this was happening, my personal life was unraveling emotionally in ways I never expected. I took a DNA test thinking it would simply confirm what I had believed my entire life. Instead, it shattered it. The man I believed was my biological father is not my biological father. My actual biological father apparently never even knew I existed, and now that connection has been made, he does not want a relationship with me.

There is a very specific kind of grief that comes from discovering your identity is different than what you believed your entire life. It makes you question memories, belonging, history, and even yourself. It leaves you feeling emotionally homeless. At the same time, I worry about my brother. He has some psychological issues. I helped him fight to get his identification documents back after all of them was stolen. I worried about him while he struggled with homelessness, mental health challenges, impatience, instability, and trying to survive. Now he has packed up and left again, without medication, chasing freedom while I sit here terrified something bad will happen to him.

And people tell you:

“He’s grown.”

“That’s his choice.”

“Stop worrying.”

But love does not work that way. Especially not when you have spent years trying to hold broken pieces of people together while quietly breaking yourself.

Then there is my daughter. Watching your child struggle in a school system that repeatedly fails them changes you as a parent. You stop believing the polished language. You stop trusting the meetings, the excuses, the legal wording, and the rehearsed responses. When your child fails all year and people still act as though your concern is “premature,” it does something to your spirit. It teaches you that some systems care more about protecting themselves than protecting children.

And after enough experiences like this, you start to feel surrounded by emotional coldness.

Bias.

Dismissal.

Selfishness.

Cruelty disguised as professionalism.

People who lack empathy but speak with authority.

Even within family. Sometimes the deepest wounds come from people who will never admit they hurt you. People who say mean things, dismiss your feelings, rewrite reality, blame you, and then act confused when you finally break emotionally. That kind of pain is difficult because there is no closure to it. Just exhaustion.

Lately, my body hurts. Not just emotionally. Physically. Because stress lives somewhere. Grief lives somewhere. Disappointment lives somewhere. And sometimes I sit quietly and wonder why people can be so selfish.

Why empathy is so rare.

Why kindness feels so difficult for people.

Why those who care deeply often suffer the most.

I do still believe good people exist. I have to believe that. But right now, if I am honest, I think my soul is just tired of surviving people.

You have been carrying an enormous emotional load for a very long time. And then there is racism. People act as though Black people, especially Black women, are supposed to endlessly endure pain and still smile through it. Recently, a pastor asked me if I was okay.

I told him:

“I am a Black woman. I have no choice but to be okay.”

Because Black women are not allowed to fall apart publicly. America built itself on the backs of Black women surviving impossible conditions while still being expected to nurture, work, carry families, carry communities, carry movements, and carry pain without breaking.

That is part of why we were considered “good slaves.”

Not because we did not hurt.

Not because we were not exhausted.

Not because we were superhuman.

But because we learned how to suffer silently. And if I am honest, Black women do fall apart. We just do it quietly.

In high blood pressure.

In stress.

In anxiety.

In depression.

In autoimmune disorders.

In exhaustion.

In tears cried alone.

In carrying everyone else while nobody carries us.

People keep acting shocked by the racism in America as though this country suddenly changed overnight.

It did not.

America has always struggled with hatred toward Black people. The difference now is that some things are becoming louder, bolder, and less hidden. Sometimes I see white people making videos defending democracy, speaking out, posting supportive messages, and trying to stand beside Black people. 

And while I appreciate sincerity when it is real, a part of me has become emotionally numb to performances of concern because history has taught Black Americans something painful:

Support does not always equal change. People will say the right things while systems continue harming people anyway.

Children still get failed.

Black communities still get neglected.

Bias still exists.

Opportunities still disappear.

And somehow Black people are still expected to survive all of it gracefully. That kind of emotional contradiction does something to a person after a while. It makes you tired in your soul.

Maybe surviving people is its own kind of trauma. Maybe that is the part nobody talks about.

Not wars.

Not disasters.

Not headlines.

Just people.

The selfishness.The cruelty.The indifference.The systems.The betrayal.The pretending.The emotional abandonment.

People.

And right now, I think my soul is tired of carrying humanity on my back while humanity keeps asking for more pieces of me.

So tonight, I am allowing myself to admit something out loud:

I am not okay...

…But as a BLACK woman...

I will be.