Black Women In The Workplace Are Facing A Crisis. What Now?

As a journalist, I don't have the luxury of tuning out. I don’t get to unplug when the news cycle feels too heavy—especially when the headlines hit home. I have to be aware of what’s happening in the world all the time.

Rarely am I afforded the opportunity to bury my head in the sand to the issues that plague us (us meaning Black people, namely Black women). At this point, I’ve become a bit desensitized to the most pervasive of our ills. But a recent story left me weary because of its topic. The 19th News recently reported on Black women’s rising unemployment rates that are showing no signs of slowing. Not because we’re quitting, but because of vicious cuts to the funding of “secure” jobs Black women earned as a result of the Trump administration’s mission to undo all the progress Diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) has made. 

It hit me like a ton of bricks that the one thing I’ve always leaned on, my merit, was probably not going to be enough. Still, after reading the article, I placed my phone face down, laid my head on top of the desk, and then the hot tears flowed. 

I’m so tired. 

And I know I’m not the only one. 

Women are in a workplace mental health crisis at a rapid rate. But for Black women, it’s compounded by structural inequity and an unsteady labor force, among other issues.  

According to new data released in July by the Bureau of Labor Statistics, Black women’s unemployment rate has hovered around 6% for the past three months—nearly double that of white women and well above that of Latinas and Asian women. While other groups have seen relatively stable employment, Black women’s rate has been rising, month after month. In June, we had the longest average unemployment duration of any demographic: more than six months.

This isn’t just another stat. It is a huge red flag because Black women are not a fringe labor group. We participate in the workforce at higher rates than any other group of women. We disproportionately work in sectors that keep society running: health care, education and the federal government. But we’re also among the first to feel the tremors of an economic downturn, thanks to a labor system built on inequity.

Between February and March 2025 alone, more than 266,000 Black women lost jobs, largely due to sweeping federal cuts by the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) under the Trump administration, eliminating hard-earned roles in the name of “efficiency.” These cuts disproportionately hit the Departments of Education, Health and Human Services, and Housing and Urban Development—agencies where Black women have long been overrepresented. 

“Historically, Black women have been overrepresented in the federal workforce, in positions that have offered stability, security and more pay equity,” noted The 19 News. Even beyond federal roles, Black women are overrepresented in the very sectors—like healthcare and hospitality—that have seen broad growth in recent years. So why aren’t we benefiting from that growth? 

If you look, the labor market answers that question, namely because it’s one where Black women are still doing everything “right”—working hard, getting degrees, showing up early and staying late—and still being laid off, underpaid or overlooked. 

In a recent ABC News Live segment, gender economist Katica Roy breaks it down plainly. 

“We know that there is a connection between women's labor force participation and GDP [gross domestic product],” she told them. “Just Black women's labor force participation has dropped by just over 2% in the last three months, and that has sucked over $37 billion out of US GDP. This is the economic cost of policy, their policy ignorance.”

It’s no wonder that many of us are pivoting, pushing back or simply walking away before we can get got. We know how this plays out. We’ve been here before. But this time, we’re not going quietly. Fortunately, we’re not alone in this fight, and there are tools to help navigate a way out. 

Shari Dunn, author of Qualified: How Competency Checking and Race Collide at Work, speaks often about how Black women are constantly asked to prove ourselves in rooms that assume we don’t belong. And we’re tired. Minda Harts, through her platform The Memo, has helped thousands of Black women navigate corporate gaslighting, giving us the language, tools and strategy to navigate the corporate landscape. Other leaders, like Ifeoma Ozoma, turned her own workplace trauma into a tangible tool: The Tech Worker Handbook.

What we’re seeing now is not just a career trend but a cultural reckoning. Advocacy isn’t just happening in boardrooms. It’s happening in resignation emails, Slack messages, therapy sessions and mutual aid groups. It’s happening when a Black woman chooses to leave a job that refuses to see her. It’s happening when we stop dimming our voices to stay palatable.

We are saying things like: My voice isn’t "aggressive.” It’s informed. I don’t want another DEI panel. I want the promotion I earned. No, I won’t take on “culture work” for free.

These aren’t just statements; they’re resistance. They’re survival strategies.

Yes, unemployment is rising. But so is our refusal to suffer in silence. We’re not just tired, we’re awake. And we’re not shrinking anymore. 

Self-advocacy isn’t a one-size-fits-all toolkit. For Black women, it often means navigating the tightrope between speaking up and being labeled “difficult.” But the goal isn’t to be palatable—it’s to be protected, prepared and powerful. Here are a few ways to start:

Before asking for more, get clear on what you bring to the table. That includes your outcomes, your emotional labor, your mentorship and your cultural fluency. Keep a personal receipts file of wins, metrics and feedback so you can advocate from a place of evidence, not emotion.

If you're being underpaid or overlooked, ask for specifics. “What would it take for me to be considered for this role?” is a powerful question. If the answers are vague or shifting, that’s not a development plan—it’s a stall tactic.

Find your people. Whether it’s an internal employee resource group or a WhatsApp thread with other Black women in your field, community helps you stay grounded, get honest feedback and serve as a reminder that you are not alone (even if your team makes you feel this way).

You don’t have to serve on every DEI committee or “mentor” your entire office. Saying no isn’t being selfish—it’s being strategic. Protect your time and energy like the resources they are.

Advocating for yourself isn’t just about making it work. Sometimes it means making an exit plan. If a workplace is draining your spirit and dulling your brilliance, leaving is an act of resistance, self-preservation and sometimes the bravest thing you can do.