Written By: Trish B. Award-Winning Publisher + Cultural Commentator
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In the soft glow of Mother’s Day tributes and Instagram captions that say “she’s my everything,” a deeper truth hides beneath the surface: for many broken Black men, their mother is the only Black woman they ever allow to be fully loved, fully forgiven, and fully honored.
Even if she broke their heart—she’s the only one who gets grace.
But what about the Black women they date? The ones who show up, sacrifice, pray, pour in? Often left gasping for emotional oxygen in relationships built on trauma bonds, unhealed wounds, and misplaced expectations, these women become silent casualties in a war they never started.
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From birth, Black boys are often taught that their mother is sacred. She is strength personified. A survivor. The woman who did it all with little to no help. And while that’s powerful, it creates a dangerous one-woman pedestal.
It becomes: “No one will ever measure up to her.”
And when that mindset goes unchecked, it becomes emotional entitlement. He doesn’t seek love—he demands to be mothered again.
“He wanted me to cook, clean, uplift, support his dreams, not question him, and be silent when he hurt me—but when I asked for something back, I became the villain.”
– Anonymous Submission, Black Women’s Healing Circle
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What’s rarely spoken aloud is this: some of these men were wounded by their mothers, too.
Neglect. Favoritism. Manipulation. Over-dependence. Yet despite those traumas, she still gets a pass.
But the women who love him after? We inherit the weight of what she didn’t say. We become the battlefield for his inner child’s unresolved cries.
According to a 2022 study on intergenerational trauma in Black communities, 76% of Black men surveyed admitted they “often suppress emotions due to childhood experiences,” yet only 19% had ever gone to therapy.
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We see it every day—on stages, in songs, at funerals:
“I was a dog to women, but my mama? That was my queen.”
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It’s performative, not transformative.
Because real honor? It’s how you speak to us when no one’s watching. How you show up for your partner emotionally. How you take accountability when you hurt us—not just cry about it and blame your past.
If you can give unconditional grace to the woman who birthed you, you can give healing grace to the woman who’s trying to build a life with you.
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We’re done being rehab centers.
Done raising grown men who refuse to do the inner work.
Done competing with a pedestal we never asked to climb.
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We shouldn’t have to be mothers before wives, and left to raise children on our own.
We are wives. Warriors. Healers. Creators. Not surrogates for a man’s lack of emotional maturity.
We are rewriting the rules. Choosing ourselves. Setting standards. And walking away—not in bitterness, but in boldness. Because our love is divine, and we refuse to give it to someone who only knows how to worship the past.
Let this be a call—not a cancellation.
To Black men: Honor your mother, yes. But heal so you can honor us too.
Because until you do, your mama will be the only woman who ever saw your whole heart—while the rest of us were left loving fragments.
And that? Ends now.