To survive represents an early lesson taught to black males in St. Louis.
As an infant and toddler, you learn principle number one: don’t cry; it’s a sign of weakness. In elementary school, you acquire principle number two: if someone hits you, hit them back. In middle school, you learn the art and skill to play the dozens, a game of verbal combat. In high school, expectations shift to displaying social and emotional IQ in settings such as school, sports, and jobs.
Culturally, it has been important to raise black boys this way, so they are equipped to withstand and overcome the challenges unique to their identity. Each lesson is given with good intent because it ensures protection. However, the development of this resiliency creates an emotional dissonance between a black boy’s perception of what it means to be strong and the experience necessary to comfortably express vulnerable feelings.
As a society, we have advanced in our understanding of mental health related to a child’s development and behavior. Sadly, these research lessons have not diffused across generational barriers. Older generations believe the emphatic words of Frederick Douglass: “better to raise strong boys than repair broken men.” As a result, many black boys suppress emotions that could lead to perceptions of weakness.
The current pathway to manhood socializes boys to bury feminine emotions (i.e. empathetic, sensitive, or friendly), fearing boys will become fragile. They are taught to display stoic, independent, and dominant character when experiencing fear, disappointment, sadness, or any other vulnerable feeling. Neglecting to acknowledge negative feelings builds frustration, leading to depression, isolation, problematic behaviors, and violence. We must help our black boys release the pressures of life disturbing them by teaching emotional intelligence in addition to grit.
I recognized the importance of this self-awareness in 2014 during my first year of graduate school at Washington University in St. Louis. Wash. U is a globally prestigious institution known for its academic rigor and research. Three-quarters of the undergraduate student population pursue multiple majors and/or degrees. The school climate was intimidating and stressful for me. Additionally, the student and faculty population is predominantly white. Collectively, these factors required navigating a setting and culture foreign to my life’s experiences.
As many people of color existing under white canopies, I often felt like an impostor. I determined that working harder to prove I was as academically capable as my white counterparts and more than a product of affirmative action was the proper course. I wondered if I’d be considered a sellout to my culture if I dressed preppy and business casual. Would I fit in wearing urban gear?
Nonetheless, in spite of the internal conflicts, I continued to carry on with things as normal. This challenge was minor compared to those in my past and the classroom challenges ahead. However, within four months of starting my program, I began to experience adverse health effects for the sake of displaying strength under difficult conditions.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, the 20-pound weight loss, irritable bowel symptoms, daily migraines, and sensations of tingling, numbness, and hot and cold I experienced in my feet were due to anxiety. I originally sought help from medical doctors. All of the test results came back normal. I was directed to counseling. Initially I was apprehensive. No one in my circle ever needed counseling. To my limited viewpoint, counseling was either for women or people who are “crazy.”
Through sessions with a counselor, I found peace. I shared the stigmas marring my sense of confidence as a black man. The neutrality of the relationship allowed me to talk in honest fashion without feeling judged. The counselor displayed good listening ability while also raising questions and offering insight and advice.
Overall, my experience allowed me to develop the emotional repertoire needed to translate my feelings into words – a skill less emphasized in lessons of black manhood. Yet, combined with university mentors, church members, and family support, the counseling sessions proved to be therapeutic, and my health improved.
I am now an advocate for ensuring professional counseling services are more accessible to people in low-income communities. Washington University provided each student nine free one-hour counseling sessions per academic year, so I had to schedule wisely. I couldn’t afford to pay for additional sessions. Many individuals may find themselves struggling with the affordability of counseling as, unlike at Wash. U, most counseling services are not free.
Additionally, for most insurance companies to cover counseling services, a diagnosis must be made. Therefore, common issues which people seek professional counseling for – stress management, relationship problems, grief, and life coaching – may not meet the criteria for a diagnosis covered by insurance. This would then leave an individual having to pay for counseling sessions out of pocket. If this financial divider is removed, however, then more people may consider this option for the care they need.
Counseling can yield better health and wellness outcomes for people of color. In addition, I affirm and honor black-space support groups where blacks can empathize with each other’s struggle and receive encouragement.
I believe the sooner boys learn it is important to exercise strength through vulnerable communication of their thoughts and feelings, then the stronger and healthier they will be as men. We do not have to wait until our boys display anger, signs of depression, drug abuse, develop high blood pressure, or any other condition to hear them. Their voices should be heard before significant physical health challenges emerge. And we must recognize that strong men may at times be broken, and broken men can be repaired.
Curtis O’Dwyer is a 7th grade science teacher at Nipher Middle School in Kirkwood.
