Introduction
There comes a point when the pace of academic life begins to clash with the rhythm of your spirit. The urgency to publish, teach, advise, and prove yourself—again and again—can leave even the most called, the most capable among us, feeling worn thin. And for Black women in religious academia, the toll often cuts deeper.
We carry not only intellectual weight, but spiritual responsibility. Many of us are shepherds in classrooms, chaplains in meetings, and quiet intercessors in institutions that too often erase our complexity and our brilliance. We are expected to pour, yet rarely given time to refill.
But what if the work that strengthens others could also strengthen us?
That question deserves real attention—not just as a poetic idea, but as a practical strategy.
The Call Is Real—But So Is the Cost
When I was working on my PhD, I developed a theological framework centered on the lives of African-descended women in 19th-century America. In the academy, I was told that this work was “niche.” In supervisions, I was confronted with comments that weren’t just ignorant—they were hostile.
I’ll never forget being asked, “Why didn’t the slaves fight back?” Or reading a comment suggesting that enslaved people were beaten simply to produce more labor, as if brutality were an economic strategy rather than a moral abomination. These moments weren’t just academic misunderstandings—they were attempts to discredit my voice and flatten the dignity of those I sought to lift up through research.
There were no other Black women faculty around to help me interpret these micro—and macro—aggressions. I had to develop my own response strategy: find safe sisterhood, vent without apology, then return to the work with precision and strength. And when I pushed back—using the very academic tools meant to silence me—I was told I was one of the strongest students they had.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
We Weren’t Called to Burn Out
Here’s the truth: you can be deeply called and still be worn out. And too many of us are walking that line quietly, thinking it’s just the price we pay to be taken seriously.
But what if we stopped seeing burnout as a badge of honor?
What if we asked: How can I structure my academic life so that it aligns with my calling instead of exhausting it?
The answer isn’t always in working harder. Sometimes it’s in stepping back to reclaim your time, your rest, and your intellectual freedom.
Strategic Rest: Fellowships, Grants, and the Power of Paid Time
One path forward that we often overlook? External academic funding.
Fellowships and research grants are not just about prestige—they’re about power. They give you time. Space. Room to think, write, explore, and breathe. They create distance from toxic environments and carve out periods of strategic rest.
You don’t have to wait for your institution to value you. You can build your own support structure—on your own terms.
Consider these options:
Faith-based or mission-aligned research grants that allow you to pursue theological work grounded in justice.
Writing fellowships designed for scholars from historically excluded backgrounds.
Short-term retreats for Black women scholars, many of which offer stipends or travel support.
These opportunities aren’t “luxuries”—they are lifelines. And they’re out there, waiting for women like you to claim them.
Let the Work Nourish You, Too
There is sacred power in doing research that reflects who we are. There’s healing in writing the stories that history tried to bury. And there is liberation in choosing paths that allow us to thrive while we lead others.
If you're navigating academic spaces that deny your voice or devalue your labor, know this: you don’t have to grind your way to legitimacy. You are already legitimate. Your work is already worthy.
You don’t need to prove yourself through exhaustion.
Instead, build rhythms that restore you. Seek spaces that affirm your calling. And seriously consider the tools—like fellowships and grants—that can give you the time and support to do your work with joy, clarity, and longevity.
You were not called to burn out. You were called to build, to heal, to teach, to create. And there is a way to do that with strength and with rest. Let’s make that way more visible—together.
Dr. Amanda Golden-Peace, The Misogynoir to Mishpat (M2M) Research Network © 2025