The hardest part of parenting is trying to give my sons a better life. This is especially true because I am aware of the mental health toll that growing up Black, even as a biracial person in a predominantly white area, took on me. Now, raising fully Black sons with two Black parents here, the weight is intensified as I fiercely guard their joy. I constantly worry about the balance:
How much reality is too much exposure in this environment? Are they truly being seen and affirmed? I hate having to ask if I am only giving them the tools to survive. I want them to thrive, to live without fear, but the truth is, I should not have to worry about whether I will get to hug them every night.
When people tell me how cute my 20-month-old son is, my skin actually crawls. What I really want to ask is: Will you still think he is cute when he is 13 or 14, or will the fear for you finally set in? As awful as that sounds, that internal dread is the chilling reality for Black parents. We have to have “The Talk.” Even the pressure to phrase that trauma in a “respectful” way just to fit into their norms makes me want to vomit. The psychological toll this puts on our Black boys is exhausting. They are forced onto a tightrope, constantly choosing between their authenticity and their survival. What is truly maddening is that they can put on the performance, they can dress the part we are told they should, and still be perceived as a threat. The underlying problem is not their clothes; it is the implicit bias that wrongly associates their very presence with danger.
This bias is called the Adultification of Black boys. It is a dangerous form of systemic racism that strips them of their childhood. While white kids get the grace of innocence, Black boys, starting in their early teens, are seen as older, less vulnerable, and instantly more culpable. This false perception shows up everywhere, especially in places like schools, where children should be safest. The results are devastating and measurable: according to data from the U.S.Department of Education, Black boys are nearly two times more likely than white boys to receive an out-of-school suspension or an expulsion. We see the fatal consequences of this bias in the case of Tamir Rice, a 12-year-old boy playing with a toy gun who was instantly perceived and treated as a menacing adult threat, leading to his death in seconds. Achievement as Temporary Armor.
I grew up thinking I was “bad” in elementary school because I talked too much. I was on the “yellow” warning almost every day, and my name got moved on the board more often than my white counterparts. Yet, I was the one teachers constantly asked for favors because they thought I was cute and funny. Looking back, I always ponder if I received harsher punishments than others. Even now, teachers say I was “sweet” and “a favorite,” which shocks me because I thought I was a troublemaker. My husband’s story is similar but more intense. He was suspended several times and had to attend an alternative school. Now, his old teachers insist he was “the best student ever.” I am sure his Big Ten commitment and status as a top football player in our state at one time, or my history of success in dance, pageants, and community work, helped shift their mindsets.
But the truth is, it should never have come down to that. Our worth does not come from our accomplishments. We have always been special. This is the scariest part: Our achievements are temporary armor. It only takes one person not knowing our accomplishments to snap us back into danger, into being perceived as just another threatening Black face. When you are Black, you never truly leave the threat zone or escape implicit bias.
The Intersection of Sensory Needs and Societal Scrutiny
This systemic fear is compounded by the specific neurological needs of my son. He has a moderate unilateral hearing loss in his left ear, and understanding this condition has taught me so much about how deeply one challenge can affect his entire system. I often feel I have to defend my parenting, especially when his reactions are seen as willful defiance rather than sensory needs.
When he covers his ears or occasionally hits, it is usually because he is overwhelmed by sound, not because he is acting out. He also struggles with proprioception, which affects his body awareness, often making him seem clumsy or rough, just as his occupational therapist explained. These are neurological and sensory differences, not discipline issues. It is particularly frustrating trying to help older family members, especially my grandmother, understand this. It feels invalidating to keep explaining that his hearing challenges are connected to how his vestibular system processes movement and sound. For example, at a restaurant, he might hum loudly or drum on things.
When my grandmother says, “People are looking,” I think, “He is a kid! Who gives a flip? It is a family environment.”
Older generations often prioritized the image of a “perfect family” over their children’s individual needs.
I feel especially triggered when my grandmother says these things because she was a teacher for 32 years and definitely possessed a white savior mentality, mistakenly believing that having a biracial grandchild meant automatic connection. Don’t get me wrong, I love my grandmother with all of my heart, but I do not believe that at all.
The underlying issue in schools is the failure to recognize that not all children can be taught the same way; they are different and learn in different ways. My biggest fear is the school system, where his sensory behaviors risk being criminalized or judged more harshly, compounded by his being Black. The failure to accommodate his unique sensory processing needs makes him highly vulnerable to the very biases we are already fighting.
Even when we have a formal, legal plan, like a 504 Plan or an IEP, it offers no real guarantee. These plans are supposed to protect children with disabilities, but the ugly truth is that they are simply not consistently followed for Black children. Instead of seeing the 504 as a legal mandate to support my son’s neurological needs, the school can ignore the accommodations and go right back to punishing the behavior. This forces us into the exhausting, necessary role of being his constant oversight, having to fight and demand that they uphold the rights he was already granted.
Systemic Threats in the Classroom
The school system is often where the survival fight begins, and in our area, this is intensified by two major issues. First, the “white savior mentality” that many teachers possess is deeply harmful: they often mistake our sons’ cultural brilliance for a behavioral problem, leading to lowered expectations and unnecessary disciplinary action. We are not looking for someone to “rescue” our children; we need educators who respect their background.
Second, zero-tolerance policies bring School Resource Officers, or SROs, into the classroom. Instead of trained counselors, we get police officers who are quick to criminalize normal childhood behavior. This means simple defiance or a classroom outburst for a white student often becomes a direct path to an arrest or suspension for our Black sons in the South. The constant surveillance and harsher punishment turn our schools into feeders for the prison system, which is a terrifying thought for any Black parent.
The Language of Conditional Praise
This underlying conditionality is why even certain words sometimes trigger me. I find myself wincing, even when I say them myself, when I hear or use phrases like “good boy” or “you’re being so sweet.” I try to change the words because these labels, while meant well, feel like they carry a hidden stipulation: You are only safe and worthy when you are performing compliance.
The language of praise itself reinforces the idea that his worth is dependent on suppressing his natural, energetic, or sensory self. The label “angry Black woman” infuriates me precisely because it dismisses the deep exhaustion of this fight. People cannot see the sheer tiredness of trying to preserve our sons’ joy and innocence against forces that are, in fact, that deep: the systems, the words, and the community harms. This exhaustion makes me nervous about their exposure, even within our own circle, where the very people who say they love you can unknowingly contribute to the harm.
Affirming Their Birthright
We are not simply raising children; we are fighting systemic forces determined to strip them of their innocence. The true weight is not the daily tasks of parenting, but the continuous battle against bias in classrooms, in policies, and even in the language of praise, all for the sake of preserving their whole identity. This is The Weight of Raising Black Joy.
My most essential work is not to teach my sons how to survive a fearful world. It is to affirm them so powerfully that they recognize their power and choose to thrive. We teach them that their worth is never up for debate and that their beautiful, natural joy is owed to no one. It is their birthright.
Makensie Mauney-McDaniel, MS, LMHCA, NCC, is a dedicated professional, a loving wife, and a busy mom to two boys. She knows firsthand how challenging it is to navigate tough transitions and complex family dynamics. She strives to bring real-world experience and a warm, affirming approach to her clients at Shepherd Way Counseling.
