When I was growing up, the adults who raised me demonstrated that the right to rest was explicitly reserved for the dead. As I got older, I realized this was not just how my extremely hard-working parents ran their household, but a rigid mindset for so many of us in the Black community.
This is why entering a space that intentionally encouraged me to seek physical and emotional rest felt like a hug. When I visited the “Rest Is Power” exhibit currently on display at New York University, I was invited to reimagine what rest looks like for Black people — and to consider making more space for it in my own life.
The visuals excavated memories of lying on the floor in my great-grandmother’s bedroom as a child, experiencing the type of serenity and security that rarely surface for me as an adult. These reflections that bubbled up also made me question whether I could somehow access that type of peace today. I wondered, is the deprivation I experience all because of a broken system — or am I actually contributing to it?
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