Rest Is a Revolution: Choosing Joy, Boundaries, and Black Art That Breathes

There is a special kind of chaos that comes with preparing for Nationals.

Add death. Add kids. Add jobs. Add grief. Add spouses. Add planning. Add the group chat buzzing all day because somebody forgot practice time or we are deciding outfits 72 hours out from leaving. Doors literally off the hinge. That kind of chaos.

This year, right before Southern Fried Nationals, my team, The Collective, was hit with multiple losses. Personal. Heavy. Unspoken. Funerals and fuckery. That’s what we had. And still, we pushed. Not in that grind culture kind of way where we act like we’re invincible. But in the us kind of way. The way Black folks always do. We leaned on each other. We held space. We showed up imperfect but powerful.

We picked our poems. We selected our group pieces. But the truth is, we didn’t rehearse as much as we should have. We were grieving. We were holding it together with prayer, coffee, and shared inside jokes. I TOO have the world on my ass.

Still, we delivered. Because that’s what we do.

We Don’t Just Wear Hats. We Wear Crowns

Four of us are parents. Three of us are married. All six of us are out here making careers, building businesses, being the ones people call when they need something done. And somehow, we still show up to write poems that touch people’s souls and make it look easy.

It is not easy.

But we are good at this. Not just the poetry. We are good at showing up for our people and showing up for ourselves. We’ve gotten better at setting boundaries. At protecting our peace. At canceling when we need to. At answering with "no" and not feeling guilty about it.

And still, we get the work done.

I Am Done With Booked and Busy

I said what I said. I am done with booked and busy.

I want to be invested and well rested. That is the energy I’m on. That means saying yes to the things that align with my values. That means turning down things that look shiny but feel off. That means not overloading my calendar just to prove I am worthy.

It means carving out alone time for me.

Time with my husband that doesn’t involve to-do lists

Time with my children where I am not also on my phone or mentally at work

Time to laugh

Time to rest

Time to be

Mental Health Is Not a Luxury. It Is Survival

Being Black in America is exhausting. Some days it feels like we are walking through a storm in a soaking wet hoodie and flip-flops. There’s no pause button. The news is always on. The weight is always there. And the truth is, I don’t want my art to only be a response to that heaviness.

So I take breaks

From people

From places

From pressure

From poetry

Yes, even poetry. I don't have to be everywhere anymore.

My Art Has More to Say Than Pain

I am not interested in being everybody’s trauma translator. There is more to my life than what tried to kill me. There is more to my pen than protest.

I write about joy and making love

About church shoes and kitchen dance battles

About soft love and loud laughter

About being whole even when I’m healing

I’m not going to apologize for it either. My creativity is not just a reaction. It is a celebration. Of everything I am. Of everything we are.

This Is What It Means to Be a Part of The Collective

We are not just a poetry team. We are a family. We are balanced. We are therapy and turn-up. We are wine on the porch and pep talks in the parking lot. We are full humans who write full poems. And we take turns holding the mic and holding each other.

We showed up at Southern Fried. With all our flaws. With all our grief. With all our brilliance. With all of our Ghetto. And we did the damn thing.

Not because we had something to prove

But because we know how to carry ourselves through anything

And look good doing it. Shout out to our Bout Fits that we picked at the last minute!

Final Word

You do not have to run yourself into the ground to be great. You do not have to say yes to every opportunity. You do not have to write only when you are in pain. Your joy is valid. Your rest is sacred. Your art is enough.

And if nobody has told you today

It is okay to lay it all down for a moment

And breathe

Love and boundaries,

Robin Bobo

For The Collective Arts Network