Rest is pending
Tesha Murrain-Hernandez writes about the liberatory possibility and necessity of resting as a Black woman, as an individual and collectively.
The Fight for Rest
I am Tesha. Chronically ill, daughter of African soil. I can't be Black in peace and I carry the weight of being Black out loud. I am a seeker of rest.
Rest often feels elusive for me. It's a dream that feels just out of reach—a state of being that I long for but struggle to experience. I’m not fighting my brain or the neurological condition that plagues it. I’m fighting against the interconnected systems of racism, capitalism, sexism, and colonialism. These systems deny me the very thing I need most: the ability to rest in peace.
The reality is that rest is not equally accessible to everyone. I, like so many Black people, am constantly on guard, my mind and body forever tethered to a state of vigilance. This vigilance is exhausting. To fight for rest is to fight for the right to simply be without constantly having to explain, justify, or advocate for my worth, my humanity, and my existence. It’s an uphill battle to reclaim my right to peace in a world that constantly demands more, more, and more.
I can recall the moments when I’ve come closest to rest, those fleeting experiences that feel like a reprieve from the weight of the world. It's a Friday evening, I light my candles and the scent of vanilla and coconut incense fills the room. The warm glow of the candles creates an atmosphere of softness, and I find my sweet spot with my vape as the pain slowly subsides. I play my favourite songs, repeating them until I am lulled into a meditative state. No one is watching or listening—except they are, in my mind.
For those few moments, I feel the protection and joy of my ancestors, a flutter in my stomach, a tingle up my spine, a deep inner knowing that comforts me. In this place, I begin to experience peace, if only briefly. My mind quiets. The weight of daily struggles lifts, and I don't feel so heavy.
True relaxation, for me, would mean I wasn’t mentally and emotionally taxed by advocacy work. The organisations that claim to do the work of change would be intentional in how they curate inclusive spaces, respectfully engage with advocates like myself, and compensate us for our contributions. I would wake up without pain, not dreading the inevitable and—oftentimes—debilitating flare-ups, not constantly worrying about whether the government are going to play political ping-pong with the threadbare support they offer and I'd have access to person-centred medical support.
I would wake up without that overwhelming sense of dread and a to-do list looming over me. I must have an A-Z complete plan. What if I refuse treatment? Will my specialist discharge me? What if my plant medicine stops being supportive? Perhaps I need to do some more research. I feel frozen by frustration, exhaustion, loneliness, and invisibility.
I am committed to finding ways to connect with my body through appreciation rather than identifying the areas of pain, stiffness, or weakness. A state of being, free of judgment, free of the need to perform for others, free of constant hustle.
Rest as a State of Being and Mind
When my mind is at rest, it is free of thought. I am present and grounded in the moment. In these moments, I can acknowledge the glimmers that fuel me to keep going.
Rest, for me, is also a state of being where I feel safe enough to dream. To dream of a life where existence doesn’t come with the heavy burden of survival. A gift of mental stillness that makes space for me to imagine what could be, where I shape my vision of peace.
Rest as a mental state is liberating. It offers me the space to reconnect with myself, my community, and my ancestors. It allows me to be, to exist outside of the constraints placed upon me. It shifts my perspective, making it possible to see my challenges not as insurmountable obstacles but as parts of a journey I am equipped to navigate.
Rest and the Collective
This vision of rest cannot be contained in solitude. It needs to be shared, nurtured, and supported. In a world that constantly demands more from Black bodies—emotionally, physically, and mentally—rest must be communal. I long for a space where Black people can come together and experience rest without the burden of judgment, without the weight of white voyeurism. A space where we can embody our ancestral joy and hold one another in solidarity.
In this ideal space, holistic practices are interwoven with African spiritual traditions. A cradle-to-grave space, offering comfort, support, and healing at every stage of life.
In this space rest is not only about relaxation, but about healing and reclaiming what has been lost, offering a sense of power and agency to all who enter.
Rest in this context is transformative. It enables Black people to reconnect with their roots, and to see themselves as part of a larger, resilient community. It allows us to shed the heavy layers of societal expectations and pressures, and experience a profound sense of belonging.
Rest as Freedom
Ultimately, rest is freedom. It is the freedom to simply exist in my Black womanhood on my terms. It is freedom from the need to constantly prove my worth, to explain myself, or to fight for my humanity. Rest is my right to be, to dream, to heal, and to imagine a world where I can be whole.
In my ideal world, rest is not just a privilege for the few, but a right for the many. It is a right that Black people—especially those living with chronic illness—deserve. And in this world, rest is not only the absence of work or worry, but the presence of peace, community, and healing.
Inhale: Rest is not a privilege
Exhale: Rest is a right
Tesha Murrain–Hernandez is a Jamaican–Montserration wellness artist and meditation practitioner, interested in themes of Black community space, herbology, Afro-Spiritualities & Cosmologies, and somatic movement.
Based in Birmingham UK, her background is in teaching, autism awareness training, and managing challenging behaviours in learning spaces. As a Black woman living alongside migraine, Tesha is interested in finding ways to make art more accessible to herself and her wider community, through community gathering, intuitive practices & experimentation, consulting, and collaboration.
Tesha is also a member of the creative support group BRMTWN, and one of the only UK Community Leaders for Shades for Migraine.
Instagram: @the_migraineadvocate
Website: @thesage_grassrootswellness
This post is part of the Substack series, ‘On Rest’. Each of the disabled and chronically ill creatives featured receives a remuneration of £50 (made possible by an Edge Fund grant).
If you would like to share your reflections On Rest, please get in touch! If you are financially able, please consider a paid subscription to resting up collective’s Substack to support our work. As ever, thank you for being part of our slow space.
Rest is freedom. Oof. One of many of the wisdom gems in this piece. What a beautiful and righteous vision the author gives us! This piece will be staying with me and fueling my justice and advocacy work.
❤️