What I Wish I Knew Before I Burned Out
I was raised to work hard.
Like most Black women, I was taught that our value came from how much we could carry—how much we could endure. There’s this quiet praise that surrounds our struggle, like a badge of honor we didn’t ask for. The endless sacrificing. The ability to keep going no matter what. The idea that being tired just means you’re doing something right.
As a young entrepreneur, I took pride in my hustle.
I was standing on my feet for hours—no breaks, no food, no complaints.
I was booked and busy. Listening to clients talk through everything from their hair to their heartbreak. Giving advice. Holding space. Running on fumes.
And I wore it all like a crown.
I was praised for it, too.
“You’re always grinding!”
“You don’t stop!”
“You’re the Beyoncé of hair!”
And that’s exactly how I worked—maximum effort. Minimum rest.
But the truth is… Beyoncé rehearses and recovers.
And I wasn’t doing either.
