What Wellness Mean for the African Woman?

Reclaiming a holistic vision of wellbeing rooted in who we are

We have always known that wellness is more than the absence of illness. Long before the Western world discovered 'holistic health' and 'mind-body connection,' our grandmothers understood that a woman's wellbeing was woven into the fabric of her community, her spirit, her land, and her purpose.

And yet, somewhere along the way, many of us lost access to this wisdom. Colonization, migration, assimilation, and the relentless pace of modern life have disconnected us from the wellness practices that sustained generations of African women before us.

Today, we're often handed a version of 'wellness' that wasn’t designed or built with the African in mind - Her history, her body, her spirituality, her community, her food, her rhythms. In fact, much of what it sells has been extracted from cultures like ours, repackaged and sold back to us stripped of its soul. The wellness industry asks us to abandon our food and call it ‘clean eating,’ to heal in isolation and call it ‘self care.’

So what does wellness actually mean for the African woman,  whether she lives in Lagos, London, Nairobi, New York, Accra, or Amsterdam?

1. Wellness Is Communal, Not Individual

In many Western frameworks, wellness is positioned as an individual pursuit. Your mental health. Your self-care. Your boundaries. But for the African woman, wellness has never been a solo journey.

Ubuntu — 'I am because we are' — isn't just a philosophy; it's a lived reality. Our wellbeing is intertwined with our families, our communities, our ancestors, and those yet to come. When one of us thrives, we all rise. When one of us struggles, the ripple is felt by many.

This is beautiful. It's also complicated.

Because the same interconnectedness that gives us strength can also make it hard to prioritise ourselves. How do you rest when your rest affects your mother's rent? How do you set boundaries when your culture says 'family first' without exception? How do you heal when you're expected to be the healer?

True wellness for the African woman means learning to hold both truths: we are connected, and we are allowed to exist as individuals. We can pour into our communities and replenish ourselves. These are not opposites.

2. Wellness Includes the Spiritual

For many African women, spirituality isn't separate from wellbeing. Wholeness included the soul. Prayer, faith, ancestors, communal worship, connection to something greater is central to how we make sense of life. They are technologies for healing, passed down through generations.

At the same time, we must be honest: spirituality can be weaponised. When 'just pray about it' is used to dismiss genuine mental health struggles, faith becomes a barrier rather than a bridge. When women are told their depression is only a spiritual attack rather than making room to understand the root causes, their specific needs and professional support. 

3. Wellness Is Rest and Rhythmic

The African woman has been the backbone, the provider, the fixer, the strong one for generations. We wake before the sun. We work jobs that don't honour our worth. We send money home, raise children, care for elders, and still show up with grace.

But here is a truth our grandmothers might not have had the privilege to speak: you are allowed to rest.

Rest may be the very freedom they worked so hard to give you.

Wellness means learning that your worth is not measured by your productivity. It means saying 'not today' to demands that would drain you. It means understanding that you can love your family deeply and still choose yourself sometimes.

Life followed seasons, not schedules. Rest came naturally after harvest. Celebrations followed mourning. There was a time for labour and a time for stillness, not endless optimisation, but a rhythm that honored both. 

4. Wellness Honours Our Bodies as They Are

The global wellness industry often tells us that our bodies are problems to be solved — too big, too dark, too much. It sells us products to shrink ourselves, lighten ourselves, erase the very features that mark us as African.

True wellness rejects this.

Our hips, our skin, our hair, our curves these are not flaws to be corrected. They are inheritances to be celebrated. Wellness for the African woman means nourishing our bodies with food that honours our cultures (yes, the jollof rice, the fufu, the injera, the ugali). 

A well body wasn’t a thin body or a sculptured body. It was a functioning body, one that could work, birth, carry, dance, rest. Beauty was presence, fullness, strength. Our bodies were not projects to be fixed. They were homes to be honored.

It also means fighting for healthcare systems that take our pain seriously. Black women across the world are dismissed, misdiagnosed, and undertreated. Wellness includes demanding better — for ourselves and for those who come after us.

4. Wellness Is Reclaiming Joy

Somewhere, we learned that life is about endurance. Work hard. Survive. Sacrifice. Push through.

Wellness for the African woman includes permission to be happy. To laugh loudly. To dance in your kitchen. To pursue pleasure without guilt. To want things for yourself — not just for your children, your family, your community, but for you.

Joy is not selfish. Joy is your birthright.

5. Wellness Is Both/And

Perhaps the most important truth is this: wellness for the African woman is not about choosing between who we are and who the world tells us to be. It's about integration.

We can honour our elders and set boundaries. We can value community and prioritise solitude. We can embrace faith and seek therapy. We can love our cultures and question harmful traditions. We can be strong and soft. We can carry our history and write a new story.

6. A Wellness That Looks Like Us

The wellness you deserve is not found in a magazine. It's not sold in a bottle. It's not measured by how many green juices you drink or how early you wake up.

The wellness you deserve looks like you. It smells like your mother's cooking. It sounds like laughter with your sisters. It feels like a deep exhale after a long day. It tastes like freedom.

It is rest. It is joy. It is connection. It is healing. It is yours to define.

You are the daughter of women who survived the unsurvivable. And now, you get to do more than survive.

You get to thrive!

Together, we are Free to Rest.