

I can't lie. Black love feels different since Korryne.
Since Trayvon.
Since Philando.
Since Rodney f--cking King.
It feels more profound and more important.
I haven't been able to write lately because I've been reflecting on what it means to be loved and Black.
When I was 13, my father abandoned us. He abandoned me. The reasons didn't even matter. Ultimately, he was needed and did not show up. He was the first man to ever teach me that love could be temporary. Retracted. That it could dissolve into thin air. It left me wondering why I was so damn insignificant. Wondering what about me could be so easily dismissed.
He was the first man to ever teach me that love could be temporary.
And yet, I couldn't love a Black man until I forgave my father for every wrong thing he ever did.
And I couldn't forgive my father until I forgave myself.
If you're Black, there are two things I know for sure. That you are beautiful and that you are damaged.
I know your parents are likely more damaged than you. And their parents before them, even more so. You don't have to come from degradation or poverty for this to be true. You don't have to come from hell for this to be true. This is true because the condition of the world in which we live is such that we have been conditioned as slaves. Our men have been taken and beaten, our women have been forced to take on things too heavy for their backs. We bent and twisted like tree roots through sidewalks. Unforgivably determined and yet — confined.
It's OK to accept this.
Because it won't change until we accept this.
I can't blame the condition of Black love on the industrial prison complex. I can't blame it on crooked cops. I can't blame it on slave masters who sailed boats filled with Black bodies. There's no place for blame. But understand those things are the reason.
I know that if you're a Black woman it is more likely than not that you have been raped or violently assaulted.
That you have walked out of or into your home feeling unsafe. That you have been told precisely who you are by people who miscalculate your worth. That you have overcompensated for the assumptions on the other side of tables and across rooms. That you may not know your father or feel inconsequential in his eyes. That you keep your chin up because you have to despite a weary neck.
That when people praise you, they are actually praising the generations of women who came before you as well. That you step lightly for no one because you can't afford to be passive. That even though your tongue is sharp and your gaze is fixed, you want to be held and loved and comforted and told everything is alright.
I know that if you're a Black man there has been a narrative written in your name. You may have been raped, beaten, neglected, assaulted and forced to shake it off. That you may have been raised by a tired single mother who didn't have the time or was not taught to think about your emotional development. Who may have leaned on you too hard, too soon and taught you to feel burdened by the opposite sex. That you exist in an alternate reality in which Black men are taken for granted by passers-by — who can't possibly acknowledge that they are walking past kings.
I know these things. We all know these things. And yet we pretend that we don't.
And then there's Black love.
We're thrust into the gravity of each other. Maybe for a night or a summer or possibly a decade or a lifetime.
The Black man and the Black woman who have been given skewed versions of love lessons.
Standing in rooms we didn't choose to be in.
Trying to run from and understand each other at the same time. The tug-of-war is poetic and heartbreaking and life-giving. We write love letters with missing syllables and still dance to its rhythm in pure imagination. But that shit doesn't last.
How do you love someone who may be systematically broken? And who, throughout their life, may break again and again?
I don't pretend to be an expert in the art of Black forgiveness but I do know it begins with forgiving yourself. To stand in front of a mirror, or at a bus stop or before an ocean or on line at the supermarket or at the wake of a new lover's touch and say or think, “I forgive myself."
I FORGIVE MYSELF.
To accept that every painful thing you've experienced was in fact abuse — no matter how insignificant you've been told it was. That you should have been treated better but was not. That you shouldn't have been discarded or ignored or profiled — but you were. To forgive the cracks and missing pieces that exist within yourself and understand those marks are things of beauty. Because we are not what has been done to us. We are walking manifestations of our ancestors' dreams. Every one of us.
If you can forgive yourself a thousand times a day — know that you will have to forgive your lover just the same. You will have to accept that they will hurt you, pull away from you, lie to you, and perhaps leave you. That they may do those things because those things have been done to them by others. Or by you.
And then you have to accept how important this process is. The static in the air right now is solidifying.
We are at war.
We do have to fight back.
We do have to be aggressive.
We do have to be relentless.
But if Black people are standing on a battlefield, make no mistake — our greatest weapon is the ability to be loving.
To ourselves, to our lovers, to our children.
To our oppressors who are cowardly waiting for us to retreat.
Adrian Marcel On Purpose, Sacrifice, And The 'Signs Of Life'
In this week's episode of xoMAN, host Kiara Walker talked with R&B artist Adrian Marcel, who opened up, full of heart and authenticity, about his personal evolution. He discussed his days transitioning from a young Bay Area singer on the come-up to becoming a grounded husband and father of four.
With honesty and introspection, Marcel reflected on how life, love, and loss have shaped the man he is today.
On ‘Life’s Subtle Signals’
Much of the conversation centered around purpose, sacrifice, and listening to life’s subtle signals. “I think that you really have to pay attention to the signs of life,” Marcel said. “Because as much as we need to make money, we are not necessarily on this Earth for that sole purpose, you know what I mean?” While he acknowledged his ambitions, adding, “that is not me saying at all I’m not trying to ball out,” he emphasized that fulfillment goes deeper.
“We are here to be happy. We are here [to] fulfill a purpose that we are put on here for.”
On Passion vs. Survival
Adrian spoke candidly about the tension between passion and survival, describing how hardship can sometimes point us away from misaligned paths. “If you find it’s constantly hurting you… that’s telling you something. That’s telling you that you’re going outside of your purpose.”
Marcel’s path hasn’t been without detours. A promising athlete in his youth, he recalled, “Early on in my career, I was still doing sports… I was good… I had a scholarship.” An injury changed everything. “My femur broke. Hence why I always say, you know, I’m gonna keep you hip like a femur.” After the injury, he pivoted to explore other careers, including teaching and corporate jobs.
“It just did not get me—even with any success that happened in anything—those times, back then, I was so unhappy. And you know, to a different degree. Like not just like, ‘I really want to be a singer so that’s why I’m unhappy.’ Nah, it was like, it was not fulfilling me in any form or fashion.”
On Connection Between Pursuing Music & Fatherhood
He recalled performing old-school songs at age 12 to impress girls, then his father challenged him: “You can lie to these girls all you want, but you're really just lying to yourself. You ain't growing.” That push led him to the piano—and eventually, to his truth. “Music is my love,” Marcel affirmed. “I wouldn’t be a happy husband if I was here trying to do anything else just to appease her [his wife].”
Want more real talk from xoMAN? Catch the full audio episodes every Tuesday on Spotify and Apple Podcasts, and don’t miss the full video drops every Wednesday on YouTube. Hit follow, subscribe, and stay tapped in.
Featured image by xoNecole/YouTube
Colman Domingo’s Career Advice Is A Reminder That Our Words Shape Our Reality
When it comes to life, we are always here for a good reminder to shift our mindsets, and Colman Domingo just gave us one we didn't know we needed.
In a resurfaced clip from an appearance at NewFest shared as a repost via Micheaux Film Festival, the Emmy award winner dropped a gem on how he has navigated his decades-spanning career in Hollywood. The gem in question? Well, Colman has never identified with "struggle" in his career. Let that sit.
Colman Domingo On Not Claiming Struggle
"I’ve never said that this career was tough. I’ve never said it was difficult. I’ve never said it was hard," Colman said. "Other people would say that—‘oh, you're in a very difficult industry. It's very hard to get work and book work.’ I’m like, I’ve never believed that."
Instead of allowing himself to be defined by other people's projections about their perceptions of what the industry is or was, Colman dared to believe differently even if his reality was playing catch up with his dreams:
"Like Maya Angelou said words are things. And if you believe that, then that's actually what it is. Actually I've just never believed it. Someone told me some years ago, they said, 'I remember you were, you're a struggling actor.' I'm like, 'I don't.'"
"I wasn't attached to a struggle. I was attached to living..."
He continued:
"Even when I was bartending and hustling and not having opportunities or anything, I never believed that I was struggling because I wasn't attached to a struggle. I was attached to living and creating and being curious."
Colman’s philosophy of attaching to living instead of struggle has blossomed into an enduring career. He first made his mark on stage in acclaimed Broadway productions before transitioning to the screen, where his star began to rise in the 2010s following his role as Victor Strand in Fear The Walking Dead. From there, his presence only grew, landing memorable supporting roles in If Beale Street Could Talk, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, and the hit series Euphoria.
In more recent years, Colman has stepped fully into the spotlight with standout leading performances in Rustin and Sing Sing, both of which earned him widespread critical acclaim and Academy Award nominations for Best Actor.
With all that said, Colman's advice is no doubt powerful, especially for those who are chasing their dreams, building something from the ground up, or have question marks about what's next in their careers. Words shape our realities, and how we speak about our journeys even in passing matters.
Words Create Our Reality & Colman Is Living Proof
"I tell young people that. To remember the words that you say about yourself and your career are true. So, I choose to make it full of light and love and it's interesting and every day I'm going to learn something new even if it looks like I don't have what I want but it's important to be in the moment... you really build on the moments moment to moment.
"And you're looking back at your career as I've been in it for what 33 years and you're like, 'Wow, that's what I've been doing.' And I've stayed strong to that so I think that is truly my advice."
Let this be your sign to give your path a reframe. When the path you're on feels uncertain, the journey is still unfolding. Like Colman said: "I wasn't attached to a struggle. I was attached to living."
That's a Black king right there.
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Featured image by Soul Brother/Soul B Photos/Shutterstock