For nearly 20 years, I poured everything into my career, working my way to a C-Suite position I once believed was my calling. But if you ask me now if I’ll ever return to senior leadership, my answer is firm: no. I’m exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. The idea of stepping back into that role brings a visceral reaction—a reaction shared by many former leaders who’ve faced the same pressures and who understand the cost of “grit” and resilience in a system that can take more than it gives.
I recently attended a workshop for entrepreneurs, mostly women, many of whom had left executive roles. Our shared experience brought us together—stories of burnout, of industries that shaped and impacted us, and of stepping away to prioritize something greater than professional success: our health and authenticity.
In these spaces, I feel seen. We don’t wear masks or adjust to “fit in.” We simply show up as ourselves, in our full, authentic voices. And yet, I often reflect on how rare this is. The expectations of “strength” that society places on women, especially Black women, go deep. Growing up, I watched my mother and grandmother embody the “Strong Black Woman” archetype—persevering no matter the cost, pushing through hardships, and building resilience.
This image of strength, so embedded in my upbringing, carried into my professional life. I believed resilience meant enduring everything and pushing through without complaint. But no one taught me what to do when resilience was no longer enough, when enduring became an unhealthy sacrifice.
The corporate world often operates with a lack of compassion for the human experience. In past roles, I found myself surrounded by colleagues who struggled to understand why care, empathy, and compassion were essential parts of leadership. As the only woman on some teams, especially in male-dominated environments, it was a challenge to bring humanity into the conversation without facing resistance. And yet, being resilient in these spaces often meant ignoring my own emotional needs.
We need to talk about what resilience truly costs us. At what point does pushing through, ignoring our own limits, stop being admirable, and start being detrimental? When does grit become harmful?
This post is dedicated to my late colleague, Dr. Antoinette “Bonnie” Candia-Bailey, who faced workplace bullying that weighed on her deeply. It’s dedicated to Dr. JoAnne Epps, who passed away while attending a university event, and to the female university presidents who have stepped down, unable to withstand the pressure any longer. And to all the women in higher education who have chosen their health over the job.
These losses have served as reminders that we are more than our titles, and we don’t have to sacrifice our health for career success. The workplace culture of “endure no matter what” has taken too much from too many. We should be creating environments where leaders, especially women, feel supported and valued, not pressured to wear themselves thin just to prove their strength.
It’s time to redefine resilience—not as the ability to endure everything but as the courage to step away when something no longer serves us. Because if we don’t prioritize our health, who will?
If you’re reading this and finding yourself at a similar crossroads, consider this: Are you enduring at the expense of your well-being? Are you pushing through, but at what cost? Remember, choosing your health isn’t a weakness; it’s the ultimate strength.
Let’s hold space for each other, honor our authentic selves, and redefine what it truly means to be resilient.
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