In his State of the Union address this year, the president gloriously celebrated how the nation is “winning.” Timed to lead into Women’s History Month, he made a brief mention of how women successfully balance both work and child-rearing. These stories matter. Representation matters. However, there is danger in glorifying resilience, particularly when it allows toxic workplace cultures to remain unchanged while employees absorb the cost.
Before we are employees, we are taught from an early age that freedom means pursuing “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.” Yet for many American women—especially Black women—the conditions required for these pursuits are constrained by economic structures that consume the very time and energy needed to experience the joy of being fully alive and free. In fact, a national survey conducted by the American Psychological Association found that women consistently reported higher stress levels than men. And a poll by the National Women’s Law Center and Morning Consult specifically highlighted the number of Black women (more than half) who described how stress in the workplace adversely impacts their health.
This is a structural consequence of workplace cultures that normalize overload and treat exhaustion as evidence of commitment and loyalty. Not surprisingly, younger generations are increasingly unwilling to remain in workplaces that disregard personal wellness. According to a report from the Mather Institute, about 6 out of 10 Millennials and Gen Zers would leave their jobs if they believed their workplaces did not support their wellbeing. This shift signals a growing awareness that sustainable work requires respecting human limits. While frequently and unfairly framed as frailty, it is, more accurately, a refreshing reality about achieving sustainability.
After dedicating more than a decade to education and the nonprofit sector, I recently left the workforce voluntarily. The expectations for the workplace culture were unsustainable. Expectations and demands expanded while capacity and support did not. For example, when I raised concerns about managing an unrealistic workload and asked for guidance on prioritization, I was told, “Everything is a priority.”
My experiences are not unique to me or to nonprofit organizations. They reflect a broader culture of overwork that treats productivity and eventual burnout as the primary measure of value. When “everything is a priority," employees internalize the burden.
My decision to leave paid work was not an act of retreat but an interruption. In this pause, I began to see more clearly how the structure of work had shaped my life. I operated out of a scarcity of time because there was none. I now exercise twice a day. I signed up to volunteer in my community, something I had wanted to do for years but could not schedule while working full-time.
My decision to leave paid work fits into a broader pattern of exit, such as the rise of “BLAXIT,” a movement in which Black families are choosing to leave the U.S. in search of safety, stability, and peace. These decisions are not impulsive but a response to cumulative stress compounded by unbearable economic, racial, and political unrest that makes living, let alone thriving, feel impossible.
Leaving your job is not reasonable for everyone in this economy, but there are small ways to liberate yourself. We can engage in small, consistent acts that conserve our energy and invite intentional ways of living beyond productivity alone.
To be sure, the decision to leave paid work may reinforce the justifications used to push women out of the workforce into more "traditional" roles outside the labor market. In these roles, women cannot exercise economic freedom or influence institutional work policies to create work environments that are equally fair for all.
But the response cannot be silent resilience inside systems that harm wellbeing. Workplace culture, whether stated explicitly or not, is experienced by employees and should not be accidental.
Employers cannot continue celebrating the resilience and achievements of women while designing workplaces that depend on that same resilience. If organizations are serious about retention and productivity, they must:
- Set realistic workloads.
- Train managers to clarify decisions and priorities.
- Treat rest as a condition for sustained performance.
Tools like Preferences, Traditions, and Requirements (PTR) can help leaders distinguish essential outcomes from habits and personal preferences, aligning teams on clear results rather than unspoken customs.
Women’s History Month invites us to ask not only what women have endured but what kind of lives we are able to imagine beyond endurance. Until we honestly confront these challenges, we can at least honor and celebrate:
The woman who reimagines.
The woman who rests.
The woman who resists.
Kamye Hugley is a Public Voices Fellow of The OpEd Project in partnership with the National Black Child Development Institute.




















A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.