When former first lady Michelle Obama was absent from President Jimmy Carter’s funeral, her spokespeople said it was because she had family obligations in Hawaii. But online, members of a certain group speculated something deeper.

That speculation continued when Obama announced soon after that she would also be skipping President Trump’s second inauguration, no explanation given. Then Vice President Kamala Harris declined to host her successor, J.D. Vance, for the traditional walk-through of the official VP residence. And when the Women’s March, later rebranded as the People’s March, was announced for Jan. 18, a lot of folks from that certain group started a nationwide pledge to skip it and go to brunch instead.

That group? Black women, who for years have been touted as the backbone of democracy, the boots on the ground of voting, the so-called 92% that voted for Harris — more than any other demographic. It’s what NPR once called “savior syndrome,” a mantle many of us have taken on but now find ourselves expected to carry eternally. After Harris’ election loss, some are throwing off that load for someone else to bear.

This isn’t about taking our ball and going home because our team didn’t win, but about being tasked with the heavy lifting of saving democracy and yet still having a lot of people asking, “What are you going to do now?” when it failed. We’ve marched. We’re tired. Where’s our mimosa?

That’s not to suggest the women I’ve talked to are completely walking away, but rather refocusing those efforts inward — to our own communities — and prioritizing self-care over a need to put the emotions and education of others first.

Memes are already expressing what some of us are feeling. On one, created by Camille D. Jamerson, words imposed onto the image of a lady with a glorious afro: “Get someone else to do it. Warm regards; Black women.” On another, a succinct message that recreates Obama’s famous “When they go low, we go high” speech: “When they go low, we don’t go.”

“Black women want reciprocity,” explained Darlyn Dyson of Baltimore. We want to feel our efforts are being matched and not just expected.

There’s historic context to that expectation. “Black men were the face of the [Civil Rights] movement,” said Melanie Hood-Wilson, but the ”women were the engine” doing the organizing, clerical and other vital work. Hood-Wilson, whose eponymous company does DEI training and consulting (and, in full disclosure, is my best friend), said those women joined the professional workforce in helping professions like education and counseling for a reason.

“We generally pay it forward where other groups are less likely to do so. Black women have not only fought for Black women,” she said. ”We went to the ballots on Nov. 6 with this very long history of leadership, as we opposed injustice.”

But then a sobering wake-up call came “when it was time for us to be considered for the ultimate leadership in the United States,” the Baltimore resident said. Suddenly an accomplished biracial woman was being referred to as a ho. “We found out in this election after busting our butts for everybody that we were the only ones who had our own backs,” Hood-Wilson said. “Many of us woke up Nov. 7, with this realization that, without even conferring with each other, that we decided, ‘I’m taking care of mine.‘”

Baltimore actor and writer Belle Burr said that as a result of the election, “I’m not editing myself anymore, even for my friends.” That newfound candor manifested itself in a group chat during which a white friend mentioned plans to go to The People’s March. “My automatic response was, ‘Girl, I’m not doing that. You have fun though,‘” Burr said. ”I know on some level she felt some type of way about it and I understand that. I am not going to be be mean about it, but I’m also not going to say I’m not participating.”

Personally, that’s a key part of this new attitude — to reject the need to apologize for self-protection. So what does this look like? For Nazaahah Amin, yoga therapist and co-director of Bmore Empowered, which focuses on mindfulness for Black girls, that looks like intentionality. She saw it in Obama’s decision to protect her time and peace.

“She’s [Obama’s] very thoughtful in what she does. I know she took some time to sit with that and know this was the best thing for herself and her spirit,” she said. “We are not performing for people to get their approval. I love that intentionality of her and Kamala Harris saying, ‘I don’t have to.‘”

The trick, though, is implementation, something that is nuanced and harder to achieve, said Paula Chase Hyman of Annapolis, who has long worked in community roles and nonprofits. “I would see people on social media say, ‘I can’t believe you are saying you are nope-ing out.' And some people may be saying that, but that’s not realistic, because at the end of the day, our survival instinct is too strong,” she said. “When your circle is threatened, you’re going to put in the work. It’s that there’s no more doing that thing where we teach and pull somebody along when you might not get it back. I’m not dropping out of anything. I’m just going to focus on the things that bring me joy.”

Which means that it’s now time for other groups to initiate the work and research into change in their own communities. Then again, that’s not always so easy to do. Some well-meaning white women on social media requested information on buying cowrie shell necklaces like the one Supreme Court Justice Ketanji Brown Jackson wore at the inauguration. Black women immediately jumped in to explain the beads' symbolic significance to those of African heritage and how it would be inappropriate for white people to adopt in this context.

“But,” Hyman said, “there we were, educating people again.”