Resilience

When The Lack is present, the word “resilient” is not far behind. Resilience, you see, is a double-edged sword.

Used as a compliment, it serves a warning. Too often, Black women in leadership are measured by their capacity to endure, to be resilient, and not their right to thrive.

A close friend of mine, “Corrine,” once interviewed for a leadership role. She expected questions about strategy, vision, and results. Instead, the interviewer leaned in and asked:

     “Are you strong? Are you tough?”

Those questions weren’t about leadership, they were about survival. Corrine soon learned why. 

Her new role came without clarity, only a set of keys to a workplace in distress. She experienced chaos, threats, and a system that had been failing for years, none of which was disclosed to her during the interview. Rather than measuring her ability to lead, they weighed how much of the load she could carry. 

This story is not unique. Across industries, Black women are often asked to prove resilience before they are asked to prove anything else. The assumption is that we will carry extraordinary weight, and we do. But the costs are real: exhaustion, disconnection, and the quiet toll it takes on our mental and emotional health.

Medical research confirms this pattern. Studies show that Black women’s pain, physical and emotional, has historically been minimized (Washington, 2006; Hoberman, 2012). That legacy continues in workplaces where we are “over-prepared and under-supported,” called upon when the work is hard but overlooked when mentorship or recognition is offered.

Resilience is valuable. But when organizations frame leadership solely around toughness and the ability to withstand, they create environments that burn leaders out rather than empower them. Thriving workplaces are not built on endurance. They are built on vision, trust, and transparency. Clarity is kind.

The question is not whether we are resilient. The question is: why must we always be required to be?