Raising My Son

Each day I raise my son, I am reminded that I still need to be mothered from a space of compassion from not seeing many decent men in my life. As I look at my son, I release him from my clutches fully understanding that so many black mothers made their sons their husbands + fathers trying to reclaim the “promise”. It’s complicated! I hug him often reminding him of his greatness rather than subjugating him to my hopes + dreams like the proverbial black mother. .

I see him as a reflection of light that is illuminating in a way that supersedes anything I can ever desire. It is well! I am allowing him to shatter boxes + find his own way to ensure that he is completely impervious to toxic masculinity.
As a young black boy, I encourage him to cry, speak up, hug others, be gentle, express his feelings + keep his word. Because we need more young men who dare to be different.

I thank God for my son, because as I raise him despite my own reality it allows me to heal those parts of myself that were let down; therefore empowering me to extend grace to all black men. I am thankful for this black boy + all the black men in my life that give me permission to love them unconditionally. Love is indeed the highest!