This Blog's Song
You'll Be OK, Kid (From the Original Documentary “Child Star”) by Demi Lovato
As a Black woman, mother, and human being in the United States, I am angry. I am angry because, no matter how many times I hear that white America isn't racist, their actions tell a different story. The same people who deny their racism are quick to judge, dictate, and impose restrictions on how we live, breathe, and navigate this world. It feels like an endless ocean I am forced to swim in, struggling for air while being pulled under by waves of inequity, bias, and hate.
They tell me not to hate, yet they impose their views and systems on my family and me. They tell me how to raise my children—children who, by age 13, are forced to act like adults, not because they want to, but because society gives them no other choice. At the same time, their children are given freedom—freedom to remain innocent, to be sheltered, and to exist without expectations that rob them of their youth. Raping and impregnating youth, but then banning abortion and forcing trauma and death on minority populations, killing communities but then making it against the law when we kill others. This hypocrisy fuels my anger.
The Pain of Medical Racism and Historical Trauma
The weight of this injustice is even heavier when we think about the history of how Black people have been treated in this country, particularly in medicine. The atrocities of medical experiments on African Americans cannot be ignored. From the infamous Tuskegee Syphilis Study to the exploitation of Henrietta Lacks’s cells without consent, our bodies have been used as experiments, reinforcing the generational trauma that lingers in every one of us.
Medical racism isn't just a dark chapter of the past—it’s a reality we still face. Studies show that African Americans are less likely to receive adequate pain management and are more likely to be dismissed by healthcare providers due to implicit biases. This legacy of mistreatment continues to shape how we experience health care today.
The Black Youth Mental Health Crisis
Adding to this burden is the alarming lack of adequate mental health care for Black Americans, especially for our youth. Black children and teenagers face unique challenges, from growing up under systemic racism to dealing with generational trauma passed down through our families. Yet, when they need help, they are met with a mental health system that often fails them. Research shows that Black youth are less likely to receive mental health services than their white peers, even though they are more likely to experience significant mental health challenges, such as depression, anxiety, and trauma from racial discrimination.
This mental health crisis is exacerbated by the lack of culturally competent therapists and professionals who understand the specific experiences of Black children. Many times, their pain is either ignored or minimized. Instead of receiving support, our children are criminalized, leading to higher rates of suspensions, expulsions, and interactions with law enforcement. This only deepens the school-to-prison pipeline and sets them on a path where their emotional and psychological needs are unmet.
Our youth are being forced into adulthood too early, not because we want them to, but because the systems around them—education, healthcare, justice—do not support them in their development. Mental health care should be a lifeline for our children, yet they are often left to drown in a sea of untreated mental illness.
"The Most Disrespected Person in America…"
Malcolm X famously said, “The most disrespected person in America is the Black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the Black woman. The most neglected person in America is the Black woman.” These words resonate with me deeply because I see it in my everyday life. As a Black mother, I am told how to look, how to wear my hair, where I can work, and how much I’m allowed to earn. I am restricted from spaces, judged for my friendships, and constantly policed in ways that white mothers will never know. They tell me how to dress my child, how to parent them, yet they give my children access to adult content and then hold me accountable when the very things they’ve allowed harm my kids.
I am expected to meet impossible standards that white America has set for itself—standards that don't work for everyone, especially not for a family like mine. There is no one-size-fits-all solution, but having a “white-view” standard for everything is absolutely not the answer. Forcing Black people to conform to a system that was built to oppress us only deepens the wounds and makes the struggle even harder.
The Legacy of Generational Wealth and Systemic Racism
Wealth disparities between Black and white Americans are still enormous, and this isn’t by accident. It’s a byproduct of a long history of systemic racism. From redlining to discriminatory lending practices, Black families were deliberately cut off from the opportunities to build generational wealth. We have been fighting to break free from poverty, but every time we try, the system knocks us down. This is why equity is so critical, not just equality. Equality assumes that everyone is starting from the same place—but we know that’s far from true.
Implicit bias and employment discrimination only make things worse. Studies have shown time and time again that Black people with the same qualifications as white candidates are less likely to be hired. In housing, we face discrimination in where we can live, what loans we can get, and even what insurance rates we pay. The school-to-prison pipeline is another tragedy, systematically funneling Black and Brown children from the classroom into the criminal justice system, cutting short their futures and tearing apart our families.
The Constant Battle of Building and Rebuilding
It feels like no matter how hard we try to build ourselves up, we are constantly being torn down. We are minorities in a country that wasn’t built for us, yet we are expected to thrive in it. When we demand better, we’re met with hostility. When we rise up and succeed, they try to tear us down again. And when we express anger, when we dare to show our hurt, they tell us to "go back to Africa," as though they haven't stripped us of that heritage and that home.
They ripped our ancestors from their land, beat them out of their names, their culture, their hairstyles, their food, and their family systems. But now, they tell us how to parent, how to dress, what we can eat, and where we belong. They want us to be invisible until they need something from us. Meanwhile, they celebrate their wealth—wealth built on the backs of our ancestors, while we are still fighting for the basics: safety, justice, and dignity.
Being Black in America Should Not Be a Curse
They remind me constantly that being Black in America should feel like a curse. But it isn’t. My Blackness is my pride. I am raising Black children who deserve more than this country has offered. They deserve to be children, to be safe, to be free, and to be loved. But instead, white America thrusts adulthood upon them too soon, stripping them of their innocence, and then condemns them when they falter.
I am angry because I am human, and my family deserves better. I am angry because I am tired of swimming in an ocean of inequity, gasping for air, and fighting against a system designed to make me drown. We are more than this system. We are more than these barriers. We deserve to rise above, to breathe freely, and to live without the constant pressure to conform to a reality that was never meant for us.
There Is No One Solution
There is no one-size-fits-all solution. Our experiences as Black people are varied, complex, and nuanced. We cannot apply the same rules across the board for everyone. But what is clear is that the “white-view” standard cannot continue to define our lives. We must have the space to create our own rules, live by our own standards, and raise our children without the oppressive thumb of white America dictating our every move.
This is not just about fairness—it’s about survival, dignity, and the right to live authentically in a world that so often tries to rob us of that authenticity.
I am angry because I care. I am angry because I love my children and my community. And I am angry because we deserve better. Always.
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