Where Are All the Men? The Struggle of Single Moms Raising Sons
Hey Sis, Let me ask you something—how many hats are you wearing today? Mother? Provider? Protector? Teacher? Counselor? Oh, and don’t forget part-time coach, full-time cheerleader, and occasional referee.
Now let me ask you something else—where are all the men?
Not just the ones who show up for Instagram pictures or Sunday cookouts, but the ones who stay, who lead, who nurture, who teach. The ones who step into the role of a father with pride, not as a chore. Too many of us are left filling shoes we didn’t ask to wear, trying to raise boys into men when we’re still figuring out how to navigate life as women.
Can We Raise Sons to Be Men?
People love to ask this question like it’s a mic drop, like they’ve already decided the answer is “no.” But let me tell you something—yes, we can. And we do. Every. Single. Day. But Sis, the real question isn’t whether we can raise men. It’s why so many of us have to.
We’re out here doing the impossible—working two jobs, running households, and still making time to teach our boys what it means to be strong, kind, and accountable. But let’s keep it real: this wasn’t the dream. No little girl grows up saying, “I want to be a single mom someday.”
We didn’t ask for this, but here we are, turning struggle into strength because we have no other choice.
Where Are the Fathers?
Let’s talk about it. Too many men are out here planting seeds and walking away, leaving women to carry the weight of parenting alone. And don’t hit me with that tired “bad choices” narrative. Do you really think Black women are out here choosing to struggle?
What gets me is the hypocrisy. People love to preach about the importance of marriage as if walking down the aisle guarantees a man will stay. Niggas get divorced every day, starting new families while forgetting the ones they already have. But somehow, the blame always lands on us.
“She should’ve chosen better.”
“She knew he wasn’t ready.”
“She’s just bitter.”
Bitter? Sis, we’re not bitter. We’re tired.
Tired of carrying burdens that were meant to be shared. Tired of being judged for circumstances we didn’t create. Tired of being compared to every other woman like we’re in some kind of competition.
The Double Standard Is Real
Let’s be honest—Black women don’t get the grace or compassion we deserve. While other women are met with sympathy, we’re met with scrutiny. We’re called “angry” instead of “passionate,” “bitter” instead of “resilient,” and “too independent” like it’s a bad thing.
And don’t even get me started on the comparisons. We’re constantly being measured against others—Latina women, White women, Asian women—as if our struggles and sacrifices aren’t enough to stand on their own.
Here’s the truth: Black women have been the backbone of our communities for generations. We’ve been holding it down, raising children, building legacies, and fighting battles on every front. And yet, when we need compassion, it’s nowhere to be found.
The Strength of a Black Woman
Sis, let me tell you something—you’re doing an incredible job. I know it doesn’t always feel like it. I know the weight of raising a son on your own can feel like too much. But every time you show up, every time you love, teach, and guide him, you’re proving the doubters wrong.
Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it’s unfair. But you are strong enough to do this. Not because you have to be, but because you are.
It’s not about being perfect—it’s about being present. Your son doesn’t need a superwoman; he needs a mom who shows up, who listens, who loves him enough to teach him what it means to be a man.
Writing Exercise: Letting Go of the Blame
Sis, take some time for yourself and let’s write it out. Grab your journal and answer these prompts:
- What unfair expectations have been placed on you as a single mom?
- What would you say to the people who judge you without knowing your story?
- What would you say to yourself if you could let go of the guilt and just be proud of all you’ve done?
My Message to You
We didn’t ask for this road, Sis. But we’re walking it anyway, with strength, grace, and love. Yes, raising sons to be men is hard, but you’re doing it. You’re showing him what resilience looks like. You’re teaching him what it means to show up for the people you love.
Don’t let the world’s judgment dim your light. You are powerful. You are capable. And you are not alone.
Let’s lift each other up. Let’s hold space for the struggles and celebrate the victories, no matter how small. Because at the end of the day, we’re not just raising sons—we’re raising the next generation of men.
With love and light,
E 💜
