Overwhelm, Bonnets, and the Weight We Carry

This morning, on my way to work, I felt the familiar tug of overwhelm. I had rushed through my already hurried routine, barely managing a quick, “Bye. Have a good day. I love you,” to my family before dashing out the door.

This isn’t new. Over the past month, I’ve noticed myself becoming more on edge. Not in an obvious way, but in a low-grade, simmering way—easy to miss until it suddenly demands attention. It’s hard to describe, yet it resonates deeply with so many Black women in America.

Carrying More Than Our Own

Sitting in that heaviness, I called my husband to apologize for my curt goodbye. Even with him—my best friend—I couldn’t quite explain what I was feeling. All I managed was, “I’m feeling a lot.” Then the tears came.

Because I am carrying a lot. Some of it is good. But when I widen the lens beyond my own life, I feel the collective exhaustion too—fear, disappointment, anxiety, depression—the weight that lingers in the air for Black women in this country. In a recent therapy session, my therapist asked, “How are you doing?” Not in her usual way, but in a way that felt like, Black woman to Black woman, I see you. She gave me permission to name what I carry, what we carry. She validated it, gently, even as I know she bears much of the same. That acknowledgment felt like an exhale I didn’t know I needed.

Later in my commute, I saw a young Black lady walking across the street. I see her often—pajama pants, slides, jacket, and a gold satin bonnet. My gaze lingered on her as I sat at the stoplight, still wrapped in my own overwhelm.

Throughout my life, I absorbed the same lesson many Black girls receive: never step outside in pajamas or a bonnet. Respectability was framed as survival. As an adult, though, my perspective has shifted. I’ve come to see that what looks like “laziness” to the outside world may sometimes mask something else: survival, fatigue, depression, or simply the reality of carrying too much with too few resources. When survival is the priority, looking “presentable” to a world that barely acknowledges your humanity is the least of your concerns.

And it struck me: if I—a woman with therapy, tools, and support at my disposal—struggle to name what I’m feeling, how much heavier must it be for those without that access? How many Black women and girls wrestle silently with burdens the world refuses to see?

That thought makes me slower to judge, quicker to extend empathy. It reminds me to see the full humanity of my sisters and brothers who are simply trying to live while navigating systems and structures designed to dismiss them. Privilege makes it easy to look down our noses at those who carry weight differently than we do. But if we are not careful, that privilege can harden into disdain, when what we are called to practice is love. And love has no room for shame.

Choosing Empathy Over Judgment

In that light, the bonnet can be a quiet rebellion—a “forget you” to societal expectations. For others, it may signal depression, anxiety, or overwhelm.

Two Black women. Two mornings. Two ways of carrying the weight.

Neither is less valid. Neither deserving of judgment.

That sister in her bonnet may be carrying more than you can imagine. Like me, she too may be carrying a lot. The difference is, I have the privilege of resources to help me navigate it. She may not.

That’s why I share this. Because it’s time we peel back the layers and really see one another—sister to sister.

Instead of quick judgment, what if we offered empathy? What if we chose a smile over a side-eye, encouragement over criticism? That sister in her bonnet may be carrying more than you’ll ever know.

And if all you can offer is judgment, you’re offering nothing at all.

A Final Word

The truth is, we are all carrying something. Some weights are visible, others are tucked away. Some are lightened by privilege and access, while others press heavier because of the lack of them. But every weight is real. Every story is worthy of compassion.

So let’s choose to meet one another with grace. Let’s resist the urge to shame what we don’t understand. And let’s remember that empathy doesn’t cost us anything—but it could mean everything to someone else.