It’s Monday. It’s raining. It’s almost August Leo Season, I’m happy but also kinda tired.
Just over two weeks, 45 was shot in the ear.
Then, Biden announced he’s dropping out of the presidential election. Leaving the Dems in America to rally behind their last option, a black-ish woman, highly-rated, extremely intellectual, decorated current VP of the United States of America named Kamala Harris.
Yesterday, I got news that my current favorite woman rap artist, Karrahboo, left her group the Concrete Boys. And she was the only woman, and in my opinion, the face of the group. Kinda sucks, actually.
I sent her a tweet of comfort stating, “sending love & girl power to @Karrahboo.”
I’ve been listening to the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill, which got me feeling like the Miseducation of Giselle, because I was truly not ready.
I was not ready for this level of reality sinking in as a I enter my womanhood and start living in the fullness of me.
I have been mislead to believe that anything he can do, I can do. That was a lie.
I was told to dream big, start the business, make your own schedule. That was a lie.
I thought we were friends. That was a lie.
I thought people didn’t pay for friendship and community. That, too, was a lie. A bold faced lie.
Today, I woke up generally tired.
But lucky me, my entire LinkedIn feed is full of other black women commenting on how tired they are, too. A community of tired black women..yay.
Now I’m writing this post.
Today, I’m writing from an emotional space, a place where raw, honest conversations are not just necessary but imperative. I’m writing this for all the Black women who are exhausted, frustrated, and disheartened—because the truth is, we’re tired. We’re tired of being misunderstood, underestimated, and overburdened. We’re tired of the systemic issues that wear us down, the microaggressions that chip away at our spirit, and the constant need to fight for our place in a world that so often overlooks us.
We’re Tired of Being the Strong Black Woman
From the outside looking in, our strength is often celebrated. We’re praised for our resilience and admired for our ability to persevere. But behind that praise lies a heavy burden. Being labeled the “strong Black woman” means that our struggles are often ignored or dismissed. It means that our pain and exhaustion are seen as mere inconveniences rather than valid emotions. We’re tired of this label being used as a shield to dismiss our needs and concerns. We’re tired of our strength being mistaken for an unbreakable spirit, when in reality, we’re human and in need of support, love, and understanding just like anyone else.
Ain’t I A Woman?
We’re Tired of Being Tokenized
How often have we been the only Black person in the room?
We’re tired of being the token representation that checks the diversity box.
We’re tired of our culture being appropriated while our voices are silenced.
We’re tired of our stories being told without our consent and our heritage being reduced to stereotypes.
We want to be seen and heard for who we truly are—not just as an exotic addition to your narrative, but as individuals with our own rich, complex identities.
No, I am not what you see on TV, my light can never be reduced to entertainment. I am an ever-evolving soul having a human experience in a land we call Earth. Traveling in space with a grand shield of protection from my ancestors known and unknown, and my cosmic homies that always look out for me. I am so much more than you can actually… see.
We’re Tired of the Emotional Labor
The emotional labor of explaining, educating, and advocating is exhausting. I mean TIRING AF!
It’s tiring to constantly be the one to shed light on injustices, to answer questions about our experiences, and to navigate spaces that weren’t designed with us in mind. We’re tired of having to carry the weight of educating others about our struggles and our culture.
We long for a world where our humanity is understood without the need for us to always be on the front lines of education and advocacy.
I had a dream, IDK about having a dream, but I see what you were imagining Dr. King.
We’re Tired of the Microaggressions
The little comments, the offhand remarks, the sideways glances—they all add up.
Thank you Corporate Erin, for making light of this situation.
We’re tired of the constant microaggressions that undermine our worth and dismiss our experiences. These seemingly small acts of bias accumulate and wear us down over time.
We’re tired of having to second-guess ourselves and our interactions, always wondering if our perceptions are valid or if we’re just overreacting.
We’re Tired of Being Invisible
We’re tired of our achievements being overshadowed, our voices being ignored, and our contributions being unrecognized. We’re tired of feeling invisible in spaces where we should be celebrated. We’re tired of working twice as hard just to be seen and heard. It’s disheartening to see our efforts go unnoticed and our presence unacknowledged.
Do You Feel Me Or Nah?
Do you feel me? Or nah?
We need empathy. We need you to truly listen and understand our experiences. We need you to stand with us, not just as allies but as co-conspirators in dismantling the systems that oppress us. We need you to recognize and value our contributions without tokenizing or marginalizing us. We need you to be aware of the emotional labor we carry and to support us in meaningful ways. We need you to pay us what we’re truly worth, and stop pocket watching us when we finally do get a bag!
Above all, we need a world where we are seen not just as strong individuals but as whole people with our own unique stories, struggles, and triumphs. We need a world where our voices are heard and valued, and where our experiences are honored with the respect and dignity they deserve.
To all the Black women reading this—know that your feelings are valid, your exhaustion is real, and your voice matters. We are tired, but we are also powerful, resilient, and worthy of every bit of love and support. And to those who may not fully understand yet, I hope this message resonates with you and inspires a shift towards greater empathy and action.
Here’s to a future where Black women are not just seen but celebrated, not just heard but understood, and not just included but truly valued.
This is why I created this space I call Giselle Avenue, and the ultimate reason why I’m writing this post.
Giselle Avenue 
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