My Mother is More Than Just Strong And Black

Black women don’t get enough credit for saving their black men

“It takes a village to raise a child” — African Proverb —

More Than Her Strength

I owe my mother more than I can ever repay her. Without her, I wouldn’t know the definition of life.

That might sound a bit hyperbolic, but it’s not far from the truth.

Growing up in deep south Texas under her wing, she always reminded how precious life truly is. As a single mother, she could have gave up and chose her own individuality over her son’s needs. Prior to my birth, she had a miscarriage. When I came along, it was with a man she wasn’t quite sure about. Despite the fact that she didn’t feel quite ready to accept me and could have continued celebrating her independent spirit, she gave me life.

In a world as harsh as this one, she gifted me happiness. There is nothing more precious than a mother’s joy.

My mother has always been a constant fixture in my life, and with this virus going around, she’s been on my mind more than usual. She’s tough, very tough, but fair, as my beacon towards manhood and making a positive impact on the people around me.

However, as I rejoice in the love I have for my mother, it got me thinking.

There are so many other black women in my life that have came and gone. The teachers that sacrificed their personal lives to ensure men like me get a fair shot at life. The babysitters, mothers, mentors, businesswomen that all have played a part in reinforcing positive aspects of my masculinity.

Recently, it has dawned on me just how underappreciated their efforts are. I mean I have always known that black women live the hardest life out of any demographic on Earth, but this pandemic has made me reflect on just how deeply it goes.

Imagine this: you’re trying to keep everything together on a daily basis in a world that doesn’t truly appreciate you, and may never will. You desire to be there for men that don’t want to be there for you. You’re constantly living under the microscope of stereotypes so being yourself is even a challenge. There are inequality pay gaps so even if you do make it ahead, you’re still being held back to some extent.

Current affairs plaguing today’s women are made significantly more difficult because you’re black.

A black woman.

Black women don’t have the same luxury of self-exploration that is afforded to the rest of society. Sexuality, mental health, education, career advancement, and the list goes on. Even the very human act of expressing emotions such as anger is frowned upon, or worse, mocked just for displaying it.

And yeah you can retort that this is a real issue that women of all colors deal with, but it’s made exponentially harder when you’re black. Hell, you don’t even have to be of African descent — just have darker than usual skin and just like that, welcome to their world.

More Than Her Anger

Looking back on it, I don’t know how my mother put up with such a hard-headed kid like myself…but she did. I’m a fast talker and my mind moves too fast for its own good. There were so, SO many times when I would try her patience because I felt my manhood being challenged.

(My manhood…that sounds pretty childish now that I’m typing it out.)

And yet she was patient. She would get upset, she would teach, and occasionally we would fight…

…but she never gave up on me.

My mother gave me so many happy, positive gifts.

Love. Hope. Joy. Power. Determination. Passion. Heart. Exploration. Kindness.

Far too often black men take power in the strength that our mothers have given us. We’re frequently told to be strong in a harsh world and emphasize those qualities.

But rarely do we give credit to those happier traits. A mother’s love isn’t always about providing, but displaying authentic humanity to a kid that has yet to figure that out.

The “Homie” Mentality

One thing that never quite made sense to me is the vicious double standard we place on black women.

Speaking as a fellow black man, even I have fallen into the trap of not giving black women enough credit. I may want to sound woke and understanding, but honestly, that wouldn’t be quite right.

As a teen growing up, I didn’t speak up when the “homies” were obviously wrong in their approach to women. When they called women out of their name, I remained silent. While I never let the big moments escalate into outright abuse, it was the smaller, more subtle moments that I often let slide. The name calling, the cat-calling,

To this day, I am ashamed of that.

I call it the “homie” mentality. When you let shit slide…just to appeal to the homies. However, the more I reflect on it, the easier it is to see the folly in living like that. As men, we’re performing a disservice to the women we supposedly care so much about in living such a self-centered lifestyle.

I’m much more educated on these matters today, but as a kid growing up, I would be disingenuous if I said I understood just how harsh that weight was. The weight of being judged day in and day out for being who you are.

Is this painting my character in a negative light? Probably, yeah. However, I’m using myself as an example.

Truth to be told, there are many black men that just don’t show up when women need them most. We stay silent when they often need us most.

While obviously not true for all black men, there have been many times I have witnessed the effect. We want to feel strong and powerful for the boys, so we allow them to carry that weight alone.

Or worse…we make that weight heavier and add to the woes of a woman trying to keep it together.

Black Men live under the narrative that we must provide. That we must hold ultimate authority within our households. Our women may stand with us, but rarely are they allowed to shine without us taking credibility.

As black men, we’re too concerned with how strong we look instead of how strong we are.

Hell, as men, we’re far too concerned with trying to play the hero at the expense of the women around them.

In music culture, we willfully, proudly boast of our sexual conquests yet we downplay our women for doing the same.

In the business world, we have no problem promoting our women. As long as they don’t rise above us.

We have no problem with a black female vice presidential candidate — until a black female vice presidential candidate actually becomes a real possibility.

Black women can be lauded for being strong. They can be praised for celebrating the pigmentation of their skin or how they uplifted our culture. However, when it’s time for society to hold black women up as equals, we frequently fail to do so.

Most black men love and support their black women — as long as those same black women do not rise above them.

And that’s not right.

I’m just keeping it real. There is no telling how many times I failed to show up when they did. I will never comprehend the full effort that my mother placed in keeping me on the right path and stemming my hard-headed Alpha African Masculinity. Or the many times my teacher put their hopes on me to be a good leader even as the men around them continued to disappoint me.

I can’t change the past, but I can create something positive for the future. I’m thankful for my mother and the millions of women like her.

My Mother is more than the weight of the world on her shoulders.

There’s happiness. There’s joy. There’s love and a life given to a black boy.

As I accept the reality of the world around me, I want to pay it forward to the women around me.

Thanks for reading!

Dayon Cotton is Active Duty US Navy and Freelance Writer. I write about social issues, life lessons, and advice on how to live a better life.