Reclaiming the Right to Fall Apart: Breaking Up With the "Be Resilient" Narrative

The cost of this narrative lives in our bodies. It shows up as chronic pain from clenched jaws, burnout from chasing impossible deadlines, and the hum of anxiety that never quite fades

We are likely the first generation of people of colour collectively pausing to ask: Why must we always be resilient? For centuries, our communities have been fed the same mantras: Work harder. Push through. Don’t be lazy. Productivity became the measure of our worth, and resilience our only permitted response to oppression. But it’s time to confront the uncomfortable truth—resilience is not a virtue when it’s the only option survival permits.

This demand for relentless endurance didn’t emerge from nowhere.

It’s the direct consequence of colonialism—where stolen land, extracted resources, and forced labor were met with the expectation that the colonized would quietly "adapt" and "persevere." Our ancestors survived, yes, but their survival was weaponized against us: If they could endure, why can’t you? The expectation of endless resilience ignores the truth—that their endurance wasn’t strength, but necessity under violence.

The cost of this narrative lives in our bodies. It shows up as chronic pain from clenched jaws, burnout from chasing impossible deadlines, and the hum of anxiety that never quite fades. We’ve been taught to blame ourselves for these symptoms—to meditate more, sleep better, "self-care" our way out of systemic harm. But fatigue isn’t failure; it’s the logical result of a system built to drain us.

True resilience isn’t nonstop labor—it breathes. It’s the natural rhythm between effort and ease, between rising up and lying down, between roaring and resting. But let’s be clear: rest alone isn’t enough. Sustainable resilience requires systemic change. Until then, there is profound power in refusing to internalize the blame for struggles that were never ours to carry. Healing begins when we redirect our anger outward—not at ourselves for "failing," but at the systems designed to make us collapse.

To rest without guilt is to reject the machinery that profits from our exhaustion. It’s to declare: I am not a resource to be mined. And when you finally allow yourself to fall apart, remember—you’re not giving up. You’re joining a long lineage of resisters who understood that stillness, too, is defiance.

So lie down. Breathe. And rest like your ancestors are cheering you on.

fresh leaves