Recently, as a gift for her daughter’s milestone birthday, a close friend asked that in lieu of presents, guests provide this young woman with the gift of advice. She called on Aunties who are raising Black daughters to come through with advice they wish they had gotten at her age.
I love this child like my own and my Aunty-mode, kicked into overdrive.
As much as I am all for embracing mediocrity in certain areas of life, the role of parenting (and Aunty-ing!) are not areas for shortcuts. When it comes to my daughters – those connected by blood or chosen through love – the stakes are high.
I feel ceaseless pressure to overperform.
I imagined being young and sitting down with the older, wiser version of myself. I wondered what to say.
No one prepares you to nurture a Queen.
Of course, this also got me thinking about what advice I would give my own daughter. Since the day this bundle of sweet joy graced this earth, I have been hypersensitive to her needs. I have tried to stand with her and affirm her. A protective shield between her and the forces in the world that would try to dull her shine.
Recent world events have only heightened my concerns about what raising Black girls really means.
As my own daughter inches closer to adulthood, I cannot help but wonder if I have done enough to equip her for the journey.
Making sure my future Queen is prepared for this world feels like something I just cannot afford to fail at. I know the world needs her light, even when it seems it doesn’t deserve it. Maybe especially then.
I am uniquely attuned to the expectations that society seems to place on our girls. It is as if our future Queens are meant to simultaneously embody strength, softness, kindness, fierceness and everything in between. And it starts from the time they are little girls.
The moment we are forced to share them with the real world, they are exposed to people and systems not ready for them.
We navigate the run-of-the-mill teen angst, frenemy wars, and hormonal shifts and take on an extra layer of complexity. Never far off are the societal expectations for our girls. Black girls are more likely to be perceived as older than they are, to be over-sexualized and more harshly disciplined in schools than their non-Black peers.
As she navigates her path my worries mount: Have I adequately prepared her for the challenges of the “real” world?
Unfiltered Truth: The secret to Raising Black daughters is nurturing their Inner Majesty.
She is brilliant and a hard worker, but we know our future Queens can rarely be just “ok” at sh*t. Often we as parents pressure them towards exceptionality. We know that even when a Queen is highly skilled and the picture of competence the most mediocre of men can get credit for their work. And be much better compensated for it.
And of course, even that exceptionality we covet doesn’t insulate our girls from the ways the world insists on changing the game as we are playing it.
We cannot raise our girls to be too good, too fierce, or too ambitious because someone is always looking to stamp out her light. They will say she is too strong, too masculine, too sexy, too competitive, too GOAT.
I also worry because, like many of us, I am raising a girl who wants to be a change-maker and I know her life will be a precarious balancing act. I feel the pressure to raise my girl to be vulnerable enough to proclaim her moral position and demonstrate her political will. All the while knowing she’ll need to possess a deep well of resilience to recover should misguided misogynoir tank her ambitions.
Too often Black girls are too much, yet not enough.
Yet. Amid my fretting, I have to learn to pause. Breathe. And figure out what words of wisdom I can gift to my young Queen.
I know I have good reason to have worry on my heart. But I cannot ignore the way our Queens have always existed with the grace of abundance.
As much as I worry about the barriers she will face, I cannot become one.
We learn, we grow, we share, we evolve. Our past, present and future are filled with queens who have shown us that our lineage is sacred and badass.
Careful not to wield the master’s tools Queens in our midst have had the wherewithal to stand in their truth and scream Black Lives Matter. And the unbreakable courage and empathy to give sanctuary to every woman forced to shout Me Too.
We share a bloodline with the Queens who have weaved, crafted, sewn and created an entirely new set of tools that we use to get better, stronger and more empowered. When they are knocked down, they get up – they keep campaigning, they keep inspiring, queens get up, dust their shoulders off and keep us all going.
When a queen claims the title GOAT, she does so after facing trials, barriers, slander and setbacks that would have held almost anyone else back by convincing her that she was undeserving.
Instead, our Queens scream for us to acknowledge their worth and it is just loud enough for us to see the patriarchy quiver.
As much as I work to remove barriers for my queen, I have to be careful that my fears for her do not become one.
Raising Black daughters, means remembering that somehow our queens rise, fall, adjust their crowns. Queens heal, laugh and move forward proclaiming in every way imaginable exactly who they are. Allowing no one to sully their sacred birthright.
The joy is in the journey of raising Black daughters.
The world won’t always be ready for my future Queen. But my job isn’t to shield her – instead, part of raising Black daughters is providing that safe place to land when she needs it. Our ancestry proves my young queen has everything she needs to be a future warrior, sister and all-around badass.
So, what advice did I (finally) decide to give to my future Queen?
Here it is:
I hope you never believe you are merely Black girl magic. Magic is for pixies and fairy tales.
You, young Queen, are part of something way Bigger. You are your ancestor’s wildest dreams. You are my wildest dreams.
You are Vibranium’s core.
You, young Queen, are whatever the hell you say you are.
With all my love and unwavering belief in you.
Raising future queens is not for the faint of heart. And we are not in this alone. Share in the comments any advice you have for raising our daughters and dive into the Parenting While Black community for more insights, straight from us, for us. Because raising Black daughters has never been a solo mission – it takes a village, subscribe to our email list to join ours.
