We Are Not the World’s Dumping Ground: The Sacred Art of Refusing Misplaced Blame

Black women, how much of the world’s weight have you carried today? How many wounds have you stitched up that weren’t yours? How many fires have yo

Black women, how much of the world’s weight have you carried today?

How many wounds have you stitched up that weren’t yours? How many fires have you put out while standing knee-deep in your own? How many sins have you been assigned that you didn’t commit?

We know the pattern well. The world missteps, then turns to us with expectation in its eyes. Women of all backgrounds spill their hurt at our feet, demand our loyalty while returning none. Men—regardless of who raised them—see us as a bottomless well, a place to pour their frustrations, their failures, their rage at a world they refuse to challenge directly.

And we absorb it.
Because history trained us to.
Because silence was once a survival skill.

To Whom It May Concern: this is not a calling, this is a back breaking burden.

The Weight of Projection & The Cost of Absorbing It

There is nothing righteous about being the world’s scapegoat. There is nothing noble in shouldering burdens that don’t belong to us. (“They never saw Black women as women”)

boundaries……

Let them sit in their own flagrancy.

Carrying other people’s misplaced blame will choke the life from your body. Their ignorance. Their shame. Their guilt. Their inhumanity. Their sins.

Stress will rot your organs, steal your peace, and leave you in a graveyard of unspoken resentment.

That stress? That resentment sitting in your chest? That exhaustion that won’t lift no matter how much you sleep? It’s not just frustration—it’s the sickness of absorbing too much.

This is why self-care is not luxury. It is not indulgence. It is survival.

(I could not be more thankful to Audre Lorde for this teaching)

And boundaries? Boundaries are sacred.

You Don’t Have to Smile at Him Because She Loves Him

It is time we say this out loud: not every woman has the bandwidth to be welcoming to males in our spaces.

Another woman may love him. Another woman may center his every hurt feeling. Another woman may trust him. Another woman may celebrate the good that he has done for her, her children, the community, or fans of that particular creative medium. okay.

If my spirit does not have the space. If experience, knowledge, and wisdom has taught me better and I don’t want to keep repeating the consequences of not acknowledging the whole truth. If my ears are more discerning and filter out that waste. If my bones are weary from fighting battles he will never understand—then no, I will not offer him my warmth. I will not be “polite” at my own expense.

Black women are tired, and that exhaustion is valid.

Not all of us will have the energy to embrace, explain, or endure. Some of us are barely holding our own peace together. Some of us can no longer pretend we have more to give knowing that it will never be returned. And some of us? Some of us are just choosing ourselves for the first time ever—and we will not apologize for it.

Reclaiming Ourselves, Piece by Piece

If you are exhausted from being the world’s emotional sponge, hear me: You were not built for this.

You are a temple, not a landfill. You deserve to exist outside of service to others.

And so today and every single day that you breathe, consider giving yourself permission:

To say “no” without explanation.
To rest without guilt.
To demand peace without negotiation.
To decide who gets access to your presence.

The world may try to place its sins on your back. But you do not have to carry them. You are not a beast of burden. You are a whole, living, sacred being.

Choose yourself. Again and again. Loudly. In the public square. With the whole world watching. Without shame. Because that is how we heal.

Let them marinate in their own flagrancy. I will not carry it. I have peace to nurture and tend to.

And this time, we are not apologizing for it.