Often, when people of color attempt to create exclusive spaces for our own demographic, there is pushback. It is viewed as unnecessarily exclusionary, discriminatory, and often as โreverse racism.โ Unfortunately, this limited view ignores the reality of what it means to exist as a person of color in a society that has been largely rooted, historically, in white supremacy. The fact is that people of color, and especially Black Americans, move through life always carrying a constant underlying tension. This tension is further amplified for Black women, who face the added pressures of combating systems of racial and gender discrimination that govern our existence and there is a particular kind of exhale that only happens in the right space and with the right community present.
Itโs subtle at firstโฆalmost imperceptible. A softening in the shoulders, a quieting in the mind, a release you didnโt even realize you had been holding. And then, slowly, it becomes undeniable โ you are not bracing anymore. You are not scanning, adjusting, translating, or anticipating. You are simply there, fully present and free to exist without questioning every aspect of that existence. Itโs an experience that is so specific, so deeply felt, and yet so rarely named for what it is: relief.
Not the fleeting relief of a good day or a pleasant interaction, but something more foundational. A kind of ease that comes from being in a space where your presence does not need to be negotiated. For many Black women โ truthfully, for most of us โ that ease is not the default setting of our daily lives. It is something we learn to create, to protect and, often, to go out of our way to find.
In intentional Black spaces, there is a different rhythm. Conversations unfold without translation. Humor lands without explanation. References are understood without context.
Vanea pharr
Unfortunately, outside of those spaces and even in environments that are well-meaning, inclusive, or diverse, there is often still a layer of awareness that still remains, lingering in the space and demanding more of Black women, simply to justify their presence in the room. Additionally, all-inclusive spaces rarely leave room for Black women to center ourselves, our needs, and the conversations most important to us. Due to our intersectional membership in two subjugated groups, our concerns, needs, and interests are routinely pushed aside. Conversations shift, sometimes gently, sometimes abruptly, toward what is most comfortable for others. There is an unspoken expectation to soften topics of discussion, explain feelings and lived experiences, and just generally make things more palatable or more accessible to others. This hyper-awareness lingers in the background of moments that should feel light but somehow require just a little more effort than they should.
The Unspoken Cost of Constant Awareness
Rarely is this overt. In fact, most of the time, it isnโt, and thatโs what makes it so exhausting.
Because it is not one singular experience, but a steady accumulation of small adjustments. A constant, low-level hum of awareness that asks you โ quietly but consistently โ to remain just slightly outside of yourself, constantly aware of your presentation (and the implications of it), and always cognizant of how your presence and words are received by the larger group. So when that hum disappears, even briefly, the contrast is striking.
Finding the Uninterrupted Rhythm
In intentional Black spaces, there is a different rhythm. Conversations unfold without translation. Humor lands without explanation. References are understood without context. There is a shared cultural language that does not need to be taught in real time, because it already lives in the room. Perhaps most importantly, there is an absence of performance. You are not representing anything or navigating how you are being perceived. You are not calculating how much of yourself is โtoo muchโ or โnot enough.โ You are simplyโฆpresent.
That presence creates something powerful. Not just comfort, but room for expansion. When you are no longer using energy to manage your environment, you have more of it available for everything else โ connection, creativity, joy, and true rest.
Joy, in particular, feels different in these spaces. It is fuller. Louder. Less restrained. It does not have to be justified or explained. It does not need to be moderated to maintain balance. Instead, it is allowed to exist on its own terms.
That kind of joy is not accidental. It is cultivated. And it is worth protecting.
Intentionality is Clarity, Not Exclusion
I find that there is sometimes quiet pressure to make every space open, accessible, and universally inclusive always, as though the creation of something specific must come at the expense of something else, but intentionality is not exclusion for its own sake. It is clarity. It is the recognition that different environments serve different purposes, and that not every space is meant to hold everything.
A space designed for rest cannot carry the same weight as a space designed for dialogue. A space built for ease cannot function the same way as one built for negotiation. And a space created for Black women โ to gather, to breathe, to be โ cannot fully exist if it is constantly being reshaped to accommodate those who do not share that lived experience.
That does not make the space hostile. It makes it honest.
It acknowledges that there are forms of connection, understanding, and release that can only happen in environments where certain things are already understood, without the need for explanation.
In a world where so much of our energy is spent navigating, translating, and adapting to the comfort of others, the ability to step into a space where none of that is required is not a luxury. It is necessary. This is a huge part of what sits at the heart of Black Girls Getaway. Not just the location. Not just the activities. Not even just the aesthetic, though that matters too! But the intention behind it. The decision to create an environment where Black women can arrive as they are and experience something that feels both expansive and deeply familiar at the same time. A space where rest does not have to be earned, joy does not have to be measured, and our presence does not have to be negotiated or justified.
There is a difference between being welcomed into a space and being considered in its creation, and that difference changes everything. When you are considered from the beginning, the experience fits differently, and it holds you differently. It allows you to move through it without the quiet calculations that so often accompany us elsewhere.
Once you have experienced that kind of space you begin to understand just how much of yourself you have been holding back in environments that were never designed with you in mind. You also begin to understand why creating and protecting these spaces is not just meaningful, but essential.
