Part 3 Raising Black Children in a World That Keeps Changing

The Losses We Carry, The Truths We Avoid, and The Recovery We Need

Part 3 Raising Black Children in a World That Keeps Changing

By Zykina Stewart, M.A. Certified Advanced Grief Recovery Method Specialist® Certified Grief Coach, Life Coach, Communication Coach, and Christian Coach

The Losses We Carry, The Truths We Avoid, and The Recovery We Need

Part 3 Raising Black Children in a World That Keeps Changing

By Zykina Stewart, M.A. Certified Advanced Grief Recovery Method Specialist® Certified Grief Coach, Life Coach, Communication Coach, and Christian Coach

The grief of being a parent in a world that changes and moves the achievement and safety mark when we reach it!

More specifically, the grief of raising a Black son in a world where I know I cannot protect him from every perception, every assumption, or every injustice.

As a grief professional, I know that grief is the normal and natural response to loss.

One of the greatest losses parents experience is the loss of certainty.

The certainty that our children will always be seen accurately.

The certainty that they will be given the benefit of the doubt.

The certainty that childhood innocence will be preserved.

That is a grief many parents quietly carry.

My Greatest Calling

There are many things my son Carter doesn't yet understand.

He is still a child.

There are conversations I have with him that he probably thinks are unnecessary or that I'm "doing too much."

He doesn't yet recognize many of the subtle messages or microaggressions I notice almost immediately.

That's okay.

He's not supposed to.

That's my job.

Carter is an amazing kid.

He's funny, kind, intelligent, and loves people.

Since he was three years old, we've lived in San Diego. While we have found wonderful people and a loving church community, his school experience has not provided the same level of Black cultural representation that we experienced in other cities.

As his mom, that has mattered to me.

Carter is also very tall for his age.

People often assume he is several years older than he actually is.

He has the rich complexion of both his father and me, and I constantly remind him how beautiful he is.

I tell him his skin glistens like gold.

That it is rich and valuable like oil.

Those words are intentional.

Before the world tells him who he is, I want him to know whose he is.

What He Doesn't See

What Carter doesn't always see are the conversations happening behind the scenes.

The meetings.

The emails.

The moments I've had to advocate for him.

I've had to remind adults to see him as the child he actually is, not the child they assume him to be.

There have been times when other children behaved inappropriately and their actions were minimized.

But when Carter defended himself, suddenly the expectations changed.

The standard became different.

Thankfully, his classroom teachers have been wonderful partners. They have cared deeply about him and have worked with me to ensure he was treated fairly.

But there have also been moments involving other adults where I had to step in.

At one point, I even instructed Carter that if he was ever called into the office over an incident, before answering questions he should respectfully ask them to call his mom.

Not because I don't trust him.

Because I know how easily words can be misunderstood when emotions are high.

Earlier this school year, Carter shared an interaction with a substitute teacher that left him feeling singled out and discouraged, and me enraged. You see carter had reached the marker of being class president, receiving awards in school, only for one teacher to discredit it by questioning the marker of achievement he had reached. I reached out to his teacher because I wanted to understand what had happened and make sure that sub never opened her mouth to say what she said again, while also making sure my son felt heard and protected.

His teacher handled the situation with professionalism and compassion, and I remain grateful for educators who truly partner with parents.

That experience reminded me how important it is for children to know someone is willing to advocate for them.

The Grief Parents Carry

As a Grief Recovery Specialist, I've realized something.

Parents grieve too.

Not because our children have died.

But because we slowly lose the illusion that we can protect them from everything.

The grief is realizing that preparation and protection are not the same thing.

I can teach my son kindness.

Respect.

Integrity.

Wisdom.

Self-control.

Excellence.

Faith.

I can prepare him.

But I cannot control how every person interprets him.

That is one of the hardest realities I've had to accept.

How do you teach your child to be aware without making them afraid?

How do you teach them to advocate for themselves while preserving their innocence?

How do you tell them they can become anything while also preparing them for moments when they may not be treated fairly?

Those are not easy conversations.

They are grief conversations.

Recovery Begins at Home

While I cannot control the world, I can influence what happens inside my home, while doing my part to push for change in our society.

That is where recovery begins.

Here are five things I believe every parent and caregiver can do.

1. Build identity before the world tries to define it.

Tell your children who they are.

Tell them they are intelligent.

Kind.

Capable.

Beautifully made.

Their identity should come from those who love them, not from assumptions others make about them.

2. Teach awareness without creating fear.

Our goal is not to raise fearful children.

Our goal is to raise prepared children.

Teach wisdom.

Teach emotional regulation.

Teach conflict resolution.

But don't allow preparation to steal their joy.

3. Become your child's safest place.

Home should be where children can tell the truth.

Where mistakes become lessons instead of labels.

Where they know they will be heard before they are judged.

Every child deserves a place where they can completely exhale.

4. Teach them to use their voice.

As children mature, help them respectfully advocate for themselves.

Teach them to ask questions.

Teach them to seek trusted adults.

Teach them that their voice matters.

5. Don't do this alone.

Find teachers who truly see your child.

Find coaches who believe in your child.

Find mentors who encourage your child.

Find churches that affirm your child's God-given worth.

Healing has always happened best in community.

A Word to Allies

If you are not a Black parent but have stayed with me through this article, thank you.

Your role matters more than you may realize.

Children remember the adults who saw them fairly.

Who spoke up when something wasn't right.

Who extended grace.

Who challenged assumptions.

Who refused to remain silent.

You may never fully understand what another family carries.

But you can help lighten the load.

Sometimes protecting a child simply means making sure they are seen for who they truly are.

My Prayer as a Mother

Every night I pray for my son.

I pray that he will be safe.

I pray that he will be wise.

I pray that he will remain kind.

I pray that he will continue to love people.

I pray that the world never convinces him he has to become less of himself to belong.

Most of all, I pray he never forgets who he is.

Not because the world told him.

But because his family did.

Because while I cannot remove every obstacle from his path, I can make sure he walks into the world knowing he was created by God with purpose, dignity, intelligence, and immeasurable worth.

The grief is realizing that preparation and protection are not the same thing.

But hope reminds me that preparation still matters.

Love still matters.

Community still matters.

Faith still matters.

And recovery is still possible.

Reflection Question

What are you doing today to help the children in your life know they are seen, valued, protected, and deeply loved?

Next in the Series

Part 4: From the Court House to the Church House: The Grief of Betrayal

In Part 4, we'll explore one of the deepest forms of grief: the grief that develops when the very institutions we trust to protect, shepherd, and pursue justice become sources of disappointment, silence, or betrayal.