To be black is to be misunderstood.
You are born into a world already afraid of you, already projecting something onto you before you have the language to understand yourself. Existing isn’t a crime, yet you are treated like a threat before you even become a man. The weight of generations follows you everywhere, settling into the soul like inherited bruises.
To be a man is to live in a world full of privilege.
You grow up surrounded by individuals who measure power through manipulation, disguised as an attempt to undo the patriarchy. As you get older, you begin trying to understand where you fit inside of it all. You spend years attempting to unlearn certain behaviors without turning empathy into performance, because equality is not something you want credit for; it’s something that should exist naturally.
Black masculinity cannot be defined by a few words; it’s a complex status to uphold. You are constantly adjusting yourself for survival, trying to remain human in a world that interprets your humanity through a negative lens. Existing inside those contradictions is tiring, but nowhere near as tiring as your sister’s experiences.
I’ve realized that the version of masculinity I believe in was never taught to me by systems or institutions. It was taught to me through friendship. Through the people I choose to call family.
Having no positive male role models growing up, I sought to understand my manhood through my mother. She taught me that community, more than anything, defined who you are, man or woman.
“BIRDS OF A FEATHER FLOCK TOGETHER.”
Community only works when it is rooted in love. It works when you are there for your brother at the highest highs and the lowest lows. Finding a community of individuals who don’t just relate to you, but challenge what you think you know about manhood.
Unearthing the trauma we faced that shaped this misconstrued view of what it means to be a man, and turning it into an understanding of how to move through this world.
Community teaches you so much. It teaches you how to be confident, but not aggressive. How to be emotionally strong, while still having the capacity to feel deeply.
It teaches you how to move through the world freely and safely. It teaches you how to protect, how to ask for help, and how to be around others who aren’t like yourself with an open mind and an open heart.
So hug your brothers, hug your sisters. Tell the people around you that you love them while they are still here to hear it.
The world already spends enough time trying to harden us. Maybe that’s where manhood really begins. Not through bravado or intimidation, but through community and care. Masculinity begins where trauma ends.
This piece is not a comparison to the black woman experience, and I want that to be known.
None of my lived experiences compares to the plight of black women. I just want to shed light on my side of the fence.