So there I was, standing in the bedroom of a nine-year-old, pulling on underwear and having a full-blown emotional reckoning about air conditioning.
It hit me in waves—the cold air, the quiet hum of peace, and then the rising heat of realization: I’ve been suffering on purpose.
Not because I had to.
Because I’d convinced myself I had no choice.
Night after night of sweat-soaked sheets, tossing, turning, waking up groggy, irritated, barely functional. And I normalized it. I let that kind of discomfort become routine. It took standing in someone else’s space to realize just how far I’d let myself shrink.
Here’s what’s worse: I know my cousin’s going to push back when she visits.
She’ll ask questions. She’ll try to reason it down.
Why spend that money?
Is it really that bad?
And I don’t know how to explain it in a way that doesn’t ruffle feathers.
Because to her, it’s still a luxury.
To me now? It’s a necessity. A non-negotiable.
But the war in my head is loud:
“At least you have a roof over your head.”
“Other people have it worse.”
“Be grateful.”
That voice—the one that mimics poverty’s script—is clever. It sounds humble, even holy. But it’s a trap. Gratitude doesn’t mean I have to settle. And suffering doesn’t make me more worthy of anything.
I’m mad that I had to leave my own home just to remember I deserve rest. Real rest. Cool, uninterrupted, breathable rest.
There’s no badge of honour in being too hot to sleep and too tired to live.
And yet, I’m still bracing for the conversation. Still rehearsing my reasons, my rationale, my right to comfort. Why does it feel like I need to justify air conditioning? Like wanting to sleep well is some kind of crime?
Let me be real: it’s not about the A/C. It’s about how easily we—especially Black women, especially those of us who’ve been the glue for too long—normalize discomfort. How quickly we convince ourselves that our needs are extravagant. How we put peace at the bottom of the list and wear struggle like it’s stitched into our DNA.
No more.
This isn’t about cooling a room.
It’s about unlearning survival.
I’m not asking for a penthouse. I’m asking to breathe.
I’m asking to sleep through the night without waking up sticky, angry, and exhausted.
And if that ruffles feathers? So be it.
Because here’s the truth:
If it’s too hot to sleep, it’s too hot to stay silent.
And I’m finally ready to cool things down.
—
Song: Too Hot
Artist: Kool & The Gang
Album: Ladies’ Night
Release Date: 1979
