Leading with Strength and Resilience as a Black Woman in Leadership

Let’s just call it what it is—leading while Black and female is exhausting. It’s like carrying the weight of purpose, people, and politics all on your back while trying to smile for the camera and show up like you slept eight hours. Spoiler alert: you didn’t.

There’s this unspoken expectation that we, as Black women leaders, must always be twice as good, twice as poised, and twice as silent. We sometimes code-switch so people feel comfortable. We’ll soften our tone so they don’t call us angry. We’ll shrink just enough so our strength doesn’t intimidate the fragile. But baby, that shrinking comes with a cost. And it’s one I refused to keep paying.

Because truthfully? I’m tired.

Tired of being in rooms where my brilliance is filtered through bias. Tired of my passion being mistaken for attitude. Tired of my confidence being labeled as conceit. Tired of showing up faithfully to tables that were never built for me, only to be told I should be grateful for the seat.

And I’m tired of not being able to celebrate my own accomplishments because people assume it’s arrogance instead of evidence of God’s favor. They’ll say you’re bragging when you’re really just bearing witness to what God has done. I shouldn’t have to downplay what He’s promoted. I shouldn’t have to whisper the very wins that Heaven orchestrated. Every open door, every platform, every position—it wasn’t me, it was Him. But somehow, even giving God glory can make people uncomfortable.

But even in that fatigue, I’m clear about something: my calling didn’t come with comfort—it came with conviction.

I lead because I was called to. Because I know the assignment on my life is bigger than my feelings, bigger than my frustration, and bigger than the walls built to keep women like me—women whose skin bears the melanated beauty of being kissed by the sun—out. I show up because my obedience to God outweighs the offense of others.

Still, let’s be honest—sometimes it hurts. It hurts when your male counterparts are celebrated for the same boldness that gets you side-eyed. It hurts when other women—especially those who don’t share your skin tone—are elevated in spaces you helped to build. And it hurts when you have to decide daily whether to be your full, authentic self or the version they can handle.

But I decided that I was done shrinking to fit spaces I was called to expand.

No dimming the light God gave me to make others comfortable. No hiding the tattoos, toning down the voice, or trading authenticity for acceptance. I’m going to lead in my sneakers, with my braided hair, my confidence, and my calling intact.

Because me—just as I am—is enough.

And to every Black woman out here leading while tired, leading while unseen, leading while underestimated—keep showing up. Not for them, but for Him. God didn’t call us to perform; He called us to pioneer. And sometimes pioneers walk alone. But don’t confuse isolation with insignificance—because even in the wilderness, your leadership is building something future generations will stand on.

So yes, I’m leading while Black. With ovaries. With breasts. With purpose. With power. With the audacity to be fully me.

And if that makes people uncomfortable—good. Maybe that discomfort will finally make them listen.

My Prayer for Every Black Woman Leading in This Season

God, thank You for every woman who carries both the weight and the wonder of leadership. Remind her that her voice is valid, her presence is powerful, and her purpose is divine. Strengthen her when she’s weary, comfort her when she feels unseen, and surround her with people who remind her she’s not crazy for caring this deeply. Give her the courage to keep showing up—even when it’s heavy—and the wisdom to rest without guilt. May she lead from a place of authenticity, audacity, and anointing. And when the world tries to silence her, may Heaven amplify her sound.

Amen