Let me start off by saying that perfection is an illusion, and there is no such thing as balance. Some seasons, you’ll neglect certain things and parts of your life, and that is ok.

For years, I believed I had to be everything to everyone. The strong Black woman. The wife who holds her husband down. The mother who never misses a beat. The daughter, the sister, the friend, the professional; all done with a smile, no cracks showing.

I wore the cape proudly. But the cape got heavy.

I told myself rest was a luxury I hadn’t earned. That pausing was a sign of weakness. That if I didn’t push through, somehow my family would fall apart. I thought strength meant never stopping.

But eventually, I stopped anyway, because I had no choice. I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Everything in my life seemed perfect, but the weight of trying to be perfect and show up for everyone and everything, every time was crushing me.

The Myth I Inherited

Being a Black woman, you inherit stories. Stories of women who endured, who carried, who made a way out of no way. That legacy is powerful, but it can also be suffocating.

I thought strength meant silence. I thought motherhood meant martyrdom. I thought being a wife meant meeting every need before acknowledging my own.

The truth is, no one asked me to do that. Not my husband. Not my children. I put those expectations on myself.

The Superwoman Complex

Part of it was the Superwoman complex, that deep-rooted belief that I should be able to carry it all. That no matter how heavy life gets, I can handle it without breaking. That I can juggle every responsibility, every role, and never drop a ball.

But here’s the truth: I am not Superwoman.

I am not meant to carry everything. And even if I could, why should I? Carrying it all left me tired, anxious, and stretched so thin that there was no space left for me.

Letting go of the Superwoman complex has been an act of freedom. It has meant admitting that I am human, not a superhero. It has meant learning to ask for help. It has meant setting boundaries. And it has meant allowing myself to put some things down without guilt.

The Sofa That Saved Me

One of my favorite places in the world is my family room sofa. In the middle of the day, I’ll grab a blanket, curl up, and take a nap. For years, I would’ve felt guilty about that, like I was slacking off or wasting time.

Now, I love those naps.

I love that my children see me resting. I love that my daughter especially sees me prioritizing my body, my peace, my need for pause. Because I don’t want her to grow up thinking womanhood means constant exhaustion. I want her to know that she can be strong and still rest. That she can be a nurturer and still say, “I need time for me.”

It’s not just about what I’m teaching her, it’s also about what I’m unlearning for myself. Burnout is not a badge of honor. It is a sign that you need rest or that you need to delegate some things to other people.

The Real Me

I used to think my family needed Superwoman. The woman who could work all day, cook dinner, clean the house, do the homework, keep the smiles going, and never stop moving.

But my husband and my kids? They don’t need a superhero. They need me.

They need the me who laughs so hard my stomach hurts. The me who cries when I feel overwhelmed. The me who can admit, “I can’t do it all today.” The me who lets herself rest on the sofa in the middle of the afternoon, trusting that the world won’t collapse if I step away. The me that is present not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. The one who is truly enjoying each moment instead of thinking about and planning the next.

They don’t need my cape. They need my presence.

Death to Superwoman

❤️ Disa B.