Just Let Me Work: The Cost of Excellence for Black Women in Entertainment
- Tymika Chambliss-Williams
- Jun 5
- 3 min read
Fifteen years.
That’s how long I’ve been in this industry, writing, directing, acting, producing. Long enough to have earned my spot. Long enough to know that, for Black women in entertainment, sometimes, the table was never built with us in mind.
We don’t get to fail gently or be flawed, complicated, or simply human. We’re expected to be machines: flawless, tireless, gracious under fire. We lead with a smile while being ignored on set, overlooked, underpaid, and overjudged.
And still, we rise. Not because it’s easy. But because we have no choice.
Every day, we juggle a thousand identities: artist, mother, partner, mentor, homemaker, warrior... the list goes on and on and on. We carry children in one hand and deadlines in the other. A script in one hand, field trip slips in the other. We mourn opportunities and still show up like we belong, because we do. But damn, the fight to prove it is exhausting.
We navigate a minefield of tone-policing and double standards.
Speak up? You’re angry.
Don’t? You’re weak.
Take charge? You’re intimidating.
Fall apart? You’re unstable.
We give grace more than we receive it.
I’ve sat in meetings where my ideas were only praised after someone else repeated them.
I’ve led productions on budgets that wouldn’t even cover sandwiches for the crew.
I’ve been called “difficult” for simply expecting to be respected.
I’ve been the creative engine, the heartbeat of the story, only to be undermined and dismissed. I’ve dimmed my light so others could shine, and quieted my voice in rooms where I was already invisible. I’ve been humiliated by fame-addicted women who saw my presence as a threat instead of a mirror.
I have driven to set in silence just to show up and do my job, knowing I wasn’t welcome there.
“Why is she here?” they whispered. Even when I was the writer and #1 on the call sheet.
I built the room. Then had to prove I belonged in it.
Do you know what that does to a soul?
When your name is on the script, your DNA in every scene, your essence on every page, and still, you are treated like a visitor in your own creation. That’s the quiet violence Black women face in this industry. We’re good enough to build the house, but never to live in it.
We carry the story.
We carry the crew.
We carry the culture.
We create opportunities for others while being left to fend on our own.
And yet, we are still forced to prove our worth in spaces that wouldn’t exist without us.
Grace without truth is just silence. And I’m done being silent.
This is not bitterness or rage. It’s clarity.
To every Black woman who’s been overlooked, overworked, or overwhelmed just trying to create: I see you. I am you. And your voice, our voice, is not optional. It is necessary.
We are no longer waiting to be invited. We’re not asking for permission. We’re bringing our own cameras, our own pens, our own crews, and building from scratch... if we have to.
We are the stories this industry needs.
Legacy builders.
Cultural architects.
Innovators.
Healers.
Creators.
This is our vow.
To keep going, but not silently.
To take up space, but not shrink to fit.
To stop asking for seats and start building our own damn tables, with softer chairs, wider doors, and room for every Black woman with a dream and a story to tell.
Because we are magic!
🔑 BONUS: What Every Black Woman in This Industry Should Know
1. Document Everything. Keep receipts, emails, drafts, text messages, and pitch decks. Your proof is your protection. Your paper trail is your power.
2. Don’t Dim. Redirect. Shrinking doesn’t serve you. If a room can’t handle your brilliance, find or build one that can.
3. Build With People Who See You. You don’t have to beg to be respected. Work with collaborators who value your voice, not just your labor.
4. Rest Is Resistance. Burnout isn’t a badge. Your wellness is part of your legacy. Take breaks without guilt.
5. Know the Business As Well As the Craft. Learn how projects are sold, greenlit, distributed, and protected. Understand the systems so you can outmaneuver them.
6. Read the Contract. Then Read It Again. Don’t sign anything you don’t understand. Ownership matters, so does credit. Get legal eyes on every deal, even the “small” ones.
7. Find the Others. Sisterhood is strategy. Connect with Black women who create, lead, and advocate. Community is where the healing and the power happen.
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