What I Actually Need for My Self-Care as a Highly Sensitive Black Mama

I used to think of self-care as warm bubble baths…and face masks that you peel out of one of those foil things that come in different colors. Don't get me wrong—I love a good lavender soak as much as the next mama. But as a highly sensitive Black woman navigating the demands of motherhood, career, and being a wife, daughter, auntie, and friend, I've learned that my self-care needs run much deeper than what Instagram suggests.

The truth is, most of us have never been asked what we actually need. As Black women, we're often so busy caring for everyone else that we rarely have a minute to tune into our own inner voice. And as highly sensitive people? We're processing so much emotional and sensory information (bright lights at the grocery store…and that one mosquito bite that won’t stop itching…and did it seem like she was ok the last time we talked or was there something else there?) that it can feel impossible to sort through what belongs to us and what we've absorbed from others.

Our society is moving so fast that our human bodies can't keep up with its demands—economically, within our families, even biologically. When we're constantly trying to match the pace of machines, our bodies rebel with chronic pain and our minds are wrought with guilt and shame because we can't keep up.

So I want to share what I've discovered about my own needs—not because your list will look exactly like mine, but because maybe seeing mine will help you recognize some needs you didn't know you had permission to have.

The Daily Reality of Being Highly Sensitive

• Some mornings I wake up shining, ready to take on the world. Other days, I have to consciously put on my glow before I can go out and face what's waiting for me. Both are valid. Both deserve support.

  
  

• I need help with all the transitions—especially that tender space between waking up and starting my day. I need those few quiet moments with a couple of not-too-perky motivational songs before anyone asks me for anything.

  
  

• I need my kids to be capable humans who can make their own lunches, find their own shin guards, and tell good jokes that make us all laugh. Because when they're self-sufficient in small ways, it gives me space to breathe.

What My Mind and Body Actually Need (The List Is Not Short)

• Rest without reaching. You know what I mean—that rest where I'm not simultaneously scrolling my phone or planning tomorrow's meals. I need time to unplug, to hide and not be found, to just exist without being needed by anyone.

• A break from decision-making. I need meal planning rotations that take the mental load off my shoulders. I need specific playlists for different moods and vibes. I need rituals and routines that create predictable anchors in an unpredictable world.

• Creative expression. I very much need play. In different forms. Whimsy. A splash of ridiculous. Creative expression that has no purpose other than joy. Dancing to good music, car ride sing-alongs with my kids, or simply a person who will answer, “chicken butt” when I ask, “guess what?”

• Nature and time walking among the trees. This is absolutely vital for me. I love to walk around my neighborhood lake, sometimes sitting with a book on a bench in the park. Other times I find a creek off the beaten path to absorb the rootedness of trees and the everyday way that birds, ducks, and turtles meet their own needs without overthinking it.

• Muscle movement. A massage every now and then helps push out the trauma stored in my tense muscles. I need movement that feels good—not because I "should" exercise, but because my body craves physical activity that honors where I am that day. Sometimes my body is asking for yoga or gentle stretching. Other times it’s asking for kettle bell swings or dance moves that help me sweat it out.

• A sleep routine. A soothing scent in the air, a pillow between my knees for back support, and a sleep story to take my mind off of the day’s events. The ritual of dimming lights, choosing soft pajamas that feel like a gentle hug, and watching a cozy sitcom is a signal that it’s time for my busy mind to wind down.

• Health system support. I am grateful for health insurance that covers visits with my primary care provider and specialists, as needed, when I need extra support. These are not luxuries—they are necessities for a nervous system that processes this chaotic world more deeply.

• Multi-generational connections that fill me up. I need conversations with elders who remind me what really matters in this life. And conversations with kids who see the world with fresh eyes. And also conversations with teens and young adults who challenge me to think differently.

• Authentic social support. I need relationships that flow both ways. Social connections that truly nurture me, not just ones where I'm doing the heavy emotional lifting or performing to maintain. Our brains are wired for social connection so strongly that emotional pain literally registers as physical pain. Did you know that? Well...it’s true. When our hearts are hurting, our brains record it as though our body is hurting. Grief becomes a heaviness in our chest, and rejection settles as a knot in our stomach. So I need my village—people who see me for who I am and understand that my sensitivity isn't something to be fixed but a gift that very vividly colors my experience with world.

  
  

The Deeper Needs

Beyond the daily rhythms and physical comforts, the sensitive soul craves something even more essential. I’ve learned that I need to intentionally s l o w my pace. I need time alone to stare at the clouds or sit with a book (or three or four). I need meditation, not as another task on my to-do list, but as a reminder that going is not my natural state of being.  For me, this has been a practice of carving out space for my needs...little by little...day by day...minute by minute. When I have a break in my day and I'm reaching for my phone, I'm learning to stop, take a few moments of slowness, check in with myself, and then choose what I want to do next from that centered place.

When I honor these layered needs—from the practical to the profound—I create space for my whole self to breathe.

Most of all, I needed permission to honor that my sensitivity is a gift that requires intentional tending. You deserve this too, Mama. Your needs aren't too much. They're exactly what they need to be.

Want to read more? Check out my in-depth analysis on Medium...