An Open Love Letter

In case no one has told you today…

Dear Black Man,

I love you.

As I sit with this Nolan Wells situation and think back to the many other black men who share a similar story, my heart grieves. But it is also a stark reminder to wrap my people in love.

I have the extraordinary privilege of being in community with some of the most amazing black men, whom I love, respect and appreciate deeply. And my number 1 wish for each of them is for the world to see them as the beautiful human beings they truly are not what those who are most hateful paint them to be.

I was talking to one of the homies a few months ago and the conversation really stuck with me.

He has a deep love and enduring passion for hospitality, specifically food and wine, and when I hear him light up talking about it, it is a gentle reminder to allow myself to fully embrace and immerse in the things I love. Hospitality isn’t just what he does, it’s a part of who he is. But still after 20 years his skin makes an introduction before his words, personality or expertise ever have the chance. I can tell there are many ways he wishes to expand and step into his own, but because of life responsibilities, fear and the doubt that sometimes accompanies this thing we call human existence he has yet to do so. And that makes me sad for him.

If you know me you know, I will always be my peoples biggest cheer squad, but I also know that dream building takes a village.

Alongside dreaming, I’ve watched him show up continually on what I know were some of his darkest days as a friend, father, son and numerous other roles he inhabits. Like me, he grapples with shit solo and then emerges once he feels like he has a good handle on the thing. I don’t press him to share, I just show up with a little reminder that the light is still ever present and should he choose to lean on me, I’m there. But what I can’t begin to comprehend is the pressure he feels to have to carry the things alone and still show up strong, composed and supportive in every situation that calls for his presence.

Honestly, I can’t help but wonder what would happen if he felt a little more loved on, cheered for and supported. I think it could make a difference for all black men really. What would happen if they felt more free to lean into whimsy, joy, dreaming or child-like wonder as much as they lean into being providers who show up whenever and wherever they are needed.

While I can’t do the inner work for anyone, I can say that I deeply appreciate the way the black men in my life show up for me.

They tell it to me like I need to hear it even if I don’t want to.

They gift me a soft place to land when the world is being exceedingly harsh.

They make me laugh when the weight of the world makes me want to ball up and cry.

They help me to remember who I really am when the narrative in my head in screaming all kinds of falsehoods.

They wrap me in hugs that gently remind me that I don’t have to carry all of things alone.

They say “I gotchu” and stick to their word.

They reflect vulnerability back to me when I’m having a hard time saying what needs to be said.

They are genuinely solid human beings and for that I am forever grateful.

I know what the narrative says, but I also know what I and many other black women I know experience in real time.

Black man, you are loved, cherished and valued not because of what you do but because of who you are. And this is my open invitation for you to lean into the whimsy, the joy, the dreamer and the childlike wonder. You won’t regret it.

And Nolan, I’m so sorry baby. You deserved better. We will continue to fight for you until your family is given what is deserved.

All my love,

B