“Capacity” and the Complex Realities of Black Disabled Life
With two near-death cardiac episodes within the year, I’ve come to understand capacity in a way I never could have imagined. After months of being bedridden and my hospitalization in January, the conditioning of “being strong” was killing me. It broke my illusion of productivity revealing: hyper-independence will kill me.
As a Black, queer, disabled person, capacity isn’t just about whether I can work; it’s about surviving a world that demands performance while denying care. I define capacity as one’s ability to output physical, mental, and spiritual productivity. Rest is not just sleep; it’s a restorative practice. However in a capitalist society that prioritizes profitability, it becomes more taxing to survive the more marginalized identities you hold. Rest, in a culture that centers whiteness and capitalism, is often treated like a luxury, not a birthright.
Before I had language for disability justice, I survived because of my community. My friend, author Kate Pentecost, extended me kindness and grace which saved my life. I could recover from three physical assaults at a global retailer, PTSD, and depression. She gave me room to begin to process and recognize the trauma I experienced. Shamir, creator of Black On The Vineyard, flew down from New Jersey to Texas to help me finish packing and move after I was discharged. I would not exist today if it wasn’t for community. In times where your capacity and resources are low, community care covers the cracks designed for marginalized people to fall through. When reflecting on being held by community Angel, the creator of Sacred Space for Fat Bodies, shared, “I rest…[and] I’m free to pray before even thinking about trauma…”
That kind of care is radical in the face of a culture that demands you grind and hustle. The scrutiny disabled Black people face in the workplace is compounded by racial bias, gender expectations, and assumptions about strength. I am still suffering from job loss after returning from medical leave at Varsity Tutors. Before my termination, I told them I couldn’t speak on calls due to extreme shortness of breath, a symptom of my heart condition. Instead of accommodations, I was met with silence and dismissal. Angel adds: “If you’re sick and tired, there’s no way you can do good work.” Shug Diddy, WDRB & iHeart Radio Host, shared: “In professional spaces, I get overlooked…[and] your work is always suspect.”
My redefining capacity, reclaiming my right to softness, to pause, to rest came easy due to my exposure to community and thought leaders I admire. Imani Barbarin, Roxane Gay, Audre Lorde, and Bassey Ikpi, have all contributed to my understanding. Performing productivity has been isolating, but being honest about my needs has been the balm that restores my soul.
“An ideal world would consist of conscious accommodations for all people,” Shamir affirms. Community care remains essential, especially for Black people managing chronic conditions. That care restores, expands, and sustains the capacity for everyone to show up as their best selves.
Brandon Jerrod (they/them) is a writer, photographer, and digital content creator whose work explores the intersections of Blackness, queerness, disability, and community care. Their practice blends storytelling, spirit work, and cultural critique to create inclusive and transformative narratives.
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The world as it is now is completely rigged against marginalized groups especially when dealing with intersectionality. So good to see publications and writers shedding some light on it!
Thank you — this was powerful and clear. I keep thinking about how rest gets framed as failure rather than survival; do you have any practical small steps people without strong community ties can take to build more of that support or to ask for care from employers? I’d love a few concrete examples.
Thank you for this question! There is so much I couldn’t cover due to the expansiveness of this topic and this is a really important question.
From the summer of 2018 up into May of 2025 I did not have hardly any physical community due the city where I lived. During the top of the pandemic, there at times were months where I wouldn’t even leave the house. Also, I know how navigating depression, Anxiety, PTSD, and other mental health conditions can be isolating and debilitating even if you have a lot of people who know and love you within physical proximity.
One of the first small steps and honestly biggest building blocks on your journey in learning and researching. Learning more about conditions you manage, people who manage similar or completely separate conditions can:
1. Show you that your experience is not exist in a vacuum. There are so many people in the world who can empathize with your experience.
2. It fosters more empathy for yourself and others.
3. Give you tools on how to navigate your experience more efficiently, with more humanity, and self care.
4. It gives you language to explain your experience and make it easier to advocate for your needs. THIS RIGHT HERE is crucial.
Advocating for your needs is so so so important it bares repeating and being its own point:
Because of the lack of community and the rapid decline in my health, capacity, and even motor skills at a time part of advocating for myself was communicating extremely openly and often that I needed physical community. Call attention you your needs and try your best not to allow yourself or others to shame you for seeking aid.
Also, in the time where I lacked the physical community and resources, Mutual Aid saved my life. It has saved my life serval times.
Another small step one could take while experiencing a lack of physical community is ensuring that you are extending yourself grace, love, comfort, and leaning into joy however you can find it.
1. Managing disabilities disrupts the illusion of productivity being your only savor. Hard work is not the only tool that can save you. In the unlearning process I found it easy to shame myself for my decline in capacity. The grace, patience, and love I extended to myself really created ease and peace of mind because that extension creates forgiveness and peace of mind.
Joy is a powerful tool to cultivate as well. Joy doesn’t lack the acknowledgement of your experience, it holds your experience and leans you over to levity and acceptance. Creativity brings me so much joy. I painted, I wrote, I started singing my prayers. When I felt trapped in my body I escaped through powerful storytelling in the form of music, video games, film, and BOOKS (so many…many books).
Especially with my chronic illness, I’ve noticed that stress makes how I feel exponentially worse. Leaning into joy and channeling my physical and mental experiences into art of some kind (even if I didn’t share it) allowed me to keep going and take it day by day. (Sometimes Second by second)
This piece deeply resonated with me. The importance of community care, especially for marginalized individuals facing intersectional challenges, is beautifully highlighted. The personal stories and insights shared are both moving and empowering.compress images
Thank you so much for reading.