The Inheritance of Weariness: Strong, Black, Blessed, and Tired!

A Black Woman's Weariness Hits Differently

I recently began researching the biblical meaning of weariness. I wanted to understand what it truly means to be weary, not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually.

In Hebrew, there are several words associated with weariness.

1. יָגֵעַ (Yagea) — Weary, exhausted, worn out

Pronunciation: Yah-GEH-ah

This Hebrew word describes someone who is tired, exhausted, or worn down by effort, struggle, or hardship.

Isaiah 40:29 (KJV)

"He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength."

The related Hebrew word ya'ef (יָעֵף), which appears in this verse, refers to being faint or exhausted.

2. יְגִיעָה (Yegi'ah) — Toil, labor, weariness

Pronunciation: Yeh-gee-AH

This word emphasizes the exhausting effects of labor and prolonged effort. It speaks to the toll that continuous striving can take on a person.

3. לָאָה (La'ah) — To grow weary, become tired

Pronunciation: Lah-AH

This Hebrew verb means to become weary or exhausted, sometimes to the point of feeling as though you have no strength left to continue.

Isaiah 40:31 (KJV)

"But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint."

Interestingly, the Hebrew word translated as "weary" in this verse comes from yaga, meaning to grow tired or exhausted through effort.

And that brings me to something that has been weighing heavily on my spirit.

Lifeing Fatigue

For the past few months, I have been struggling with something I coined "lifeing fatigue."

That was the only way I could describe what I was feeling.

It wasn't just that my body was tired, or even my mind. My spirit felt exhausted.

I began to feel like life was one continuous battle that I had to keep fighting, with no resolution in sight. Every time I overcame one battle, another one was waiting to rear its ugly head.

You know the phrase, "If it ain't one thing, it's another"?

Well, that was exactly how I felt.

I continued seeking God's guidance. I continued coming to God in prayer. I asked, pleaded, and even begged God to please give me some spiritual respite from life.

Just a moment to breathe.

A moment when I didn't have to fight, figure something out, fix something, or prepare for the next battle.

I couldn't even tell you when or why this season of weariness entered my life.

That is, until I recently had a conversation with someone whose wisdom helped pull something out of me that I hadn't fully recognized.

During that conversation, I shared something that has been sitting in my spirit for a long time.

A Black woman's weariness hits differently.

The Historical Weight of Being a Black Woman

As Black women, we have historically been made to endure battles silently.

It seems that most of the Black women I speak with are enduring some kind of weariness or exhaustion with life.

I believe Black women, especially, have lived under an unspoken code of silence that says we don't have permission to rest. We don't have permission to be tired. And we certainly don't have permission to NOT be okay.

I think about the women who came before me.

The women who had to watch their men be stripped of their dignity and manhood by oppressors. And somehow, it became our job to be their safety, hold their secrets, restore their value, and remind them of who they were.

All while bearing their children, nurturing them, feeding them, protecting them, and preparing them for a world that would not always see their humanity.

Only to watch those same children be stripped from our bosoms, sold, raped, discarded, hung, and sometimes killed.

Yet, Black women were not even allowed the space to grieve those traumas.

Because there was work to do.

We had to care for the oppressors' children while worrying about our own. We had to care for our men, tend to our families, and continue doing the work demanded of us.

And in the process, we sacrificed our sanity, our safety, our mental and physical wellness.

We sacrificed our bodies.

Our beautiful brown, beige, voluptuous, healthy bodies that, for generations, never really belonged to us.

They were treated as trophies. As tempting flesh to be taken, ravished, abused, disrespected, and discarded against our will.

And we wonder why so many of us have such complicated relationships with our bodies.

Bodies that have carried generations, endured violations, survived unimaginable pain, and still managed to bring forth life.

The Assignment That Never Ends

• Black women.

• Mothers. Aunts. Grandmothers. Nieces. Daughters. Sisters.

• Creators of civilizations. Helpmeets. Life-givers.

• All entrusted with the responsibility of being the vessel through which life enters this world, and then expected to prepare that life to make an impact.

• No instructions needed.

• Black women, responsible for raising the male child while protecting the tenderness of the female child.

• Black women, protectors of hearts.

• The ones expected to stroke the male ego, mend the broken spirit, nurture the wounded soul, and somehow keep everybody together.

• The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker.

And God forbid we make a misstep.

Get it wrong.

Forget the tools.

Mishandle the product.

Then suddenly, we are blamed for the antics of our fatherless sons, our wayward daughters, our uncommitted partners, and the absence of our white picket fences.

We are even blamed for our own black eyes and bruises.

We must have provoked the act.

Poked the bear.

Asked for it.

Whatever the "it" was.

Somehow, the responsibility always finds its way back to us.

Black women.

We bury our children on Monday and march in the streets demanding justice for them on Tuesday.

No time to stop.

No time to grieve.

No time for pain.

Black women.

We walk around with our heads held high.

Makeup done. Hair done. Nails done.

Everything done, done, done.

Everything except the hole in our hearts.

That still hasn't been repaired.

Black women.

We don't have time to give in to the diagnosis.

Remove our breasts.

Give us oxygen.

Pump the blood back in.

Restart our hearts.

We have work to do!

People to take care of.

Battles to fight.

Families depending on us.

Black women.

We don't have time to worry about minimum wage.

We will work two, three, even four jobs to feed our families.

We will scrub toilets, haul garbage, nurse your children, and, in some circumstances, even sell our bodies.

We will do whatever we believe we have to do to survive.

Because somebody is depending on us.

And the day is never really done.

While everybody else sleeps, we walk the floors.

Spreading holy oil.

Crying out to our God.

Praying for the protection of our families.

Begging God for the strength to do it all over again, if He sees fit to give us another breath.

And then morning comes.

And we get up.

Again.

Weary? Hell Yes, We're Weary!

What else would you expect us to be?

We carry burdens that some people cannot even begin to imagine.

Generational burdens.

Historical burdens.

Emotional burdens.

Financial burdens.

Spiritual burdens.

And the burden of being expected to carry everybody else's burdens while pretending that our own don't exist.

But don't get it twisted!

Don't mistake our weariness for defeat.

Yes, some of us choose to throw in the towel.

Some of us decide to step out of the race.

And some of us become so overwhelmed by the weight of life that we simply cannot see another way forward.

But more of us than you realize feel like we couldn't give up even if we wanted to.

It's in our DNA to keep it moving.

• Our ancestors kept moving.

• Our grandmothers kept moving.

• Our mothers kept moving.

• And somehow, we learned to keep moving, too.

  
  

But I am beginning to understand something.

Just because we have learned how to survive while weary doesn't mean God intended for us to live in a constant state of exhaustion.

And when we are connected to our GOD, the enmity between us and the enemy becomes a spiritual battle that the enemy cannot take lightly.

Because it is our faith in God that drives us.

Even when we look weary.

Feel weary.

Sound weary.

Our connection to the Holy Spirit living within us is a force this world don't want none of!

Because even in our weariness, something deep within our spirit reminds us:

"In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths." — Proverbs 3:6 (KJV)

Even when we don't realize we are doing it, deep inside, we still believe He will direct our paths.

Our history is proof of our endurance.

Our very existence is a testimony to what God has brought us through.

And yet, I wonder.

Have we become so accustomed to surviving that we have forgotten we also deserve to live?

Have we confused being strong with never needing help?

Have we mistaken our ability to endure pain for an obligation to keep enduring it?

And have we convinced ourselves that because God gives us strength, we are never supposed to get tired?

Weariness Is Not the Absence of Faith

So today, to all my Black women, I say this:

Weariness is not a sign that your faith is absent.

There is a difference between spiritual exhaustion and giving up.

There is a difference between being weary and being defeated.

And there is a difference between trusting God and believing that you must carry everything by yourself.

Jesus tells us in Matthew 11:28 (KJV):

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

Notice that He didn't say, "Come to me when you have figured everything out."

He didn't say, "Come to me when you have finished taking care of everybody else."

He didn't say, "Come to me when you have proven that you are strong enough."

He said, COME UNTO ME.

All who labor.

All who are heavy laden.

All who are carrying burdens that have become too heavy to bear.

And He promises REST.

I don't believe that promise is only about end-of-life rest.

I believe it is also about the rest that comes from trusting God to be our anchor, our provider, our refuge, and our strength when nobody else can give us strength.

Not even ourselves.

That promise reminds me that God can restore what life has depleted.

And sometimes His restoration comes through prayer.

Sometimes through wise counsel.

Sometimes through medical care.

Sometimes through the love and support of others.

And sometimes through simply giving ourselves permission to STOP.

• To sit down.

• To cry.

• To breathe.

• To rest.

• Without guilt.

• Without shame.

• Without feeling as though the whole world will fall apart if we don't hold it together.

• Because maybe, just maybe, the greatest lesson God is teaching me in this season of "lifeing fatigue" is that I don't have to prove my faith by how much weariness I can endure.

  
  

Maybe faith is also trusting God enough to put some things down.

Maybe strength is knowing when to stop fighting battles that were never ours to fight alone.

And maybe the spiritual restoration I have been begging God for begins with believing that I am worthy of the rest He has already offered.

So, to every Black woman who is weary today:

You have carried enough.

You have fought enough battles.

You have held enough tears.

You have been strong for enough people.

And while there may still be work to do, children to raise, families to nurture, and assignments to fulfill, please remember this:

You are not just worthy because of what you carry.

You are worthy because of who you are.

And you deserve to experience the very peace, love, grace, and restoration that you have spent a lifetime pouring into everybody else.

Black woman, you can be weary and still be faithful.

You can rest and still be strong.

You can put the burden down without giving up on the assignment.

Because even a strong Black woman needs a place to lay her burdens down.

And thank God, we have a Savior who says:

"Come unto me... and I will give you rest."

Amen.