Dear Black Men: It is Your Time to Rise

Dear Black Men,

We need to talk. Not from a place of shame or blame, but from a place of deep, ancestral love. This is a call-in, not a call-out. This is a letter from your sisters, your lovers, your daughters, your mothers, and your partners in revolution.

We see you.

We see the ways the world has tried to break you. The school-to-prison pipeline, generational poverty, mass incarceration, emotional suppression, and racial profiling. We see the trauma you carry in your bodies and the survival masks you wear just to make it home at night.

But beloveds, survival is not the end of your story. We want to see you rise. Not just as protectors or providers, but as whole, healed, conscious men. As divine beings reclaiming your birthright to love, truth, and spiritual alignment.

It’s Time to Heal

Your pain is one that is unique. You’ve been caught in a violent tug-of-war between white supremacy and patriarchy. One that taught you to fear the world and the other that taught you to fear your own emotions. These systems robbed you of your softness, your right to feel, and your ability to connect without shame. The mental toll is REAL. Depression masked as anger, fear disguised as pride, and deep wounds showing up as silence, control, or emotional withdrawal in your relationships.

This pain isn’t your fault, but healing is your responsibility. Shame tells you that asking for help is weakness; fear whispers that if you let your guard down, you’ll lose your power. But the truth is, your real power begins where shame ends. Black women don’t want to leave you behind. We want to heal with you. But we need you to meet us at the altar of your own wholeness.

In his album Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers, Kendrick Lamar did something many Black men are afraid to do: he sat in the mirror. He unpacked his trauma. He admitted to cheating, to childhood wounds, to cycles of harm and hiding. And he sought therapy. He told the world, “I grieve different.” And in doing so, he gave other Black men permission to grieve, to heal, to evolve.

Your Children Need You to Rise

I was raised by my grandfather and my father; two Black men who showed up every single day. They provided, protected, and made sure I had what I needed. In a world that constantly pushes the narrative that Black fathers are absent, my story defies that stereotype. But presence alone isn’t the same as healing. Both of them, though physically there, carried unspoken pain and generational wounds they never had the tools to unpack. Love came with strict rules, emotional distance, and unyielding expectations. I was taught strength but not softness. I learned survival but not self-worth.

Because of that, I grew up craving the kind of emotional connection I never got from them. In dating, I chased emotionally unavailable men who reminded me of the love I had to work for. Men who couldn’t see me, choose me, or hold space for my vulnerability. I confused emotional neglect with normalcy and called inconsistency chemistry. I now realize that their inability to fully show up for themselves shaped how I accepted love. And while I honor the sacrifices they made, I also carried the cost of their unhealed pain.

Your Trauma is Contagious

When Black men don’t have access to healing, it is often Black women who bear the weight. We become the emotional containers for your pain, absorbing anger that isn’t ours, nurturing wounds we didn’t create, and sacrificing our own well-being trying to hold the relationship, the household, and the community together. This shows up as emotional neglect, repeated cycles of betrayal, lack of partnership in parenting, and the normalization of our suffering. It leaves us over-functioning, under-supported, and forced into roles we never asked for: therapist, mother, martyr. And when we finally name our pain, we’re labeled bitter, too strong, or hard to love.

But it’s not just about relationships. A lack of healing in Black men ripples outward into our children, our neighborhoods, our movements. Hurt men become physically or emotionally absent fathers, emotionally unavailable leaders, and sometimes perpetrators of harm within their own communities. And yet, we know it doesn't have to be this way. When Black men heal, they become powerful protectors, conscious partners, and emotionally grounded anchors. Your healing is not a luxury. It is a necessity for the collective liberation of us all. When you heal, we all rise.

What You Can Do to Rise

This is not about perfection. This is about intention. Here are some steps you can take today to elevate your mind, body, and spirit and meet Black women where we are:

1. Go to therapy.

Not just once. Commit to it. Learn your triggers. Heal your childhood wounds. Ask yourself why accountability feels like attack. Normalize emotional literacy.

2. Unlearn patriarchy.

Unlearning indoctrinated patriarchal beliefs means Black men must begin to separate who they truly are from who they were taught to be. Patriarchy taught that dominance is strength, that emotions are weakness, and that control equals leadership. But these are lies rooted in colonial systems meant to keep you disconnected from yourself, from others, and from the divine. Real strength isn’t control—it’s presence. It’s being able to sit with discomfort, to admit when you're wrong, to protect without overpowering, and to lead with love, not ego.

Aligning with your inner divine masculinity means returning to your natural state before the world hardened you. It’s grounded, emotionally intelligent, accountable, nurturing, and spiritually aware. Divine masculinity uplifts rather than oppresses. It honors women rather than fears their power. It seeks balance with the divine feminine, not domination over it. When Black men walk in this divine energy, they become safe, rooted, and trustworthy, not just to others, but to themselves. It’s not about becoming “less of a man” it’s about becoming more whole.

3. Reclaim spiritual connection.

Whether through prayer, meditation, ancestral veneration, or breathwork, find a way to connect to something higher than your pain. Reclaim the spiritual technologies our ancestors used to survive. You are more than your body. You are spirit in motion.

4. Build with other conscious Black men.

Find your tribe. Read bell hooks. Listen to Kendrick. Watch documentaries. Start healing circles. Be around brothers who challenge you to be better, not just richer or more “masculine.”

5. Love Black women like they are sacred.

Because we are. Protect our hearts as much as our bodies. Listen to us. Honor our labor. Match our effort. Show up when it’s hard. And most of all, don’t make us choose between loving you and loving ourselves.

You Are Not Our Enemy. You Are Our Reflection.

We don’t write this because we’re bitter. We write this because we’re tired. Tired of being the mule, the therapist, the healer, and the punching bag. Tired of begging for partnership while carrying the entire village. Tired of burying our dreams just to be “ride or die” for men who aren’t riding for us.

But more than that, we’re tired of watching you shrink.

We believe in you. We believe in your goodness, your softness, your leadership, your divinity. We believe you can heal. We believe you can show up. We believe you are more than what this world has told you.

So rise, Black man. Rise for yourself. Rise for your future. Rise for your ancestors. And if you're ready, we will meet you there.