There’s a quiet burden many of us carry — one that isn’t always visible in our polished LinkedIn posts, powerful speeches, or perfectly curated social media feeds. To be African American. To be a woman. And to strive for — and achieve — excellence.

It’s not just about being good. It’s about being better. Sharper. Stronger. Kinder. More prepared. Because we know — deep in our bones — that we don’t always get the luxury of being seen as enough on our own merit. The bar is rarely where we left it. It moves. And we move with it. With grace.

We rise early and stay late. We carry generations of hopes and sacrifices on our shoulders. We learn how to navigate spaces not designed for us, how to code-switch in a heartbeat, how to advocate for ourselves without being labeled “too loud” or “too much.” Every room we enter is a performance. We rehearse the script. We smile. We show up — not just for ourselves, but for every other Black woman watching.

And still, we make it look easy.

Not because it is — but because we’ve been conditioned to believe we must. There’s an unspoken rule that we must be resilient without complaint, successful without arrogance, trailblazing without burning out. The pressure to shine while staying humble is a tightrope walk few understand, and fewer still acknowledge.

But here’s the truth: We are tired. Not defeated. Not done. But tired. And still, we go on. Because we know what representation means. Because we know that every door we open makes space for someone else to walk through. Because we believe that our excellence isn’t just about achievement — it’s about legacy.

So yes, we may make it look effortless — the degrees, the promotions, the accolades. But behind every achievement is a story of grit, sacrifice, and unyielding determination.

And still, we rise. We shine. We lead. Because we always have — and always will.