Fears of A Young Black Man
Tags: LGBTQ, Family, Life, BlackLivesMatter, This Happened To Me

Fears of A Young Black Man

Trying to navigate life in today’s chaos and injustice.

Photo by Humphrey Muleba on Unsplash

I don’t believe in the American Dream.

When I look at everything going on in the country surrounding me, it’s hard for me to see a happy ending. Despite it all, I still move forward. I still dare to dream.

I think about Martin Luther King Jr. I wonder how he had the bravery to try to raise a family while fighting for all the other black families on such a dangerous front. I wonder how he didn’t crumble under the weight of anxiety after his home was bombed or being jailed or having countless of his fellow protestors harmed.

I think about all the other black men and women who raised children and dared to live instead of just survive in such horrifying times. How did they navigate such a thing?

Today, we’re still terrified of letting our children play outside. Images of Tamir Rice pop into our minds, forcing us to remember. We refuse to call the police because we don’t want bullet holes in our homes or our flesh. We walk outside with tension stiffening every part of us. We walk around a store just waiting for an employee to follow us.

I still dare to dream.

It’s just not the “American Dream” we were given all throughout school and in loads of books, movies, and music. I don’t want a white picket fence, a pretentious job, fake friends, a house I can’t afford that doesn’t even feel like home, an expensive purebred dog, and kids I’ll traumatize with outdated parenting methods.

I’m building a family of my own, and I’m terrified. I’m scared of doing a bad job. I wonder if I’m good enough sometimes or if I can give them everything they need from me.

I’m scared of the cops pulling us over. I’m scared of someone suspecting one of my kids of theft in a store. I’m scared of teachers overlooking them or not believing in them simply because of their skin color.

I wonder if I’ll be able to provide enough financially. Food, utilities, rent, various insurances, internet, and whatever else we need all adds up.

However, I still dare to dream. I tell myself it’ll all work out. I’m not asking for it to be easy. Instead, I’m asking for the strength to overcome whatever gets thrown at us.

I try not to let my illnesses dictate my life.

I have dialysis three times a week. Throughout a month, I might have as many as 5 doctor appointments. I have a few surgeries that are non-negotiable in the near future. I take a few handfuls of medication throughout the day.

The truth is, my illnesses do dictate my life to an extent. I’m trying not to let them dictate my whole life. I have a flourishing garden I take care of. I help take care of and love 3 dogs. I have a couple of business and cyber security classes that I’m enrolled in.

I constantly have to remind myself not to compare my life to someone that doesn’t have chronic illnesses. If I do, I start to wonder if I’m good enough. I go back and forth in my mind debating if I’ll ever be successful. Self doubt grows in the pit of my stomach until it’s the size of a soccer ball.

I am a man.

I’m trans. That makes things a little different for me. My life won’t look exactly like a cisgender male. My phenomenal girlfriend thinks I’m handsome, but I didn’t believe her at first. I don’t even have my beard yet, my mind said. She’s helped my confidence a lot, even if she has no idea about it.

For a long time, I believed I wouldn’t ever have a romantic partner. I was terrified of dying alone, but I didn’t tell anyone. Instead, I swallowed my fear and proclaimed that I’d be a single dad and adopt.

I felt like someone wouldn’t want to put up with everything I have going on. I mean, who would want to go on dates in the hospital cafeteria? University of Michigan’s hospital does have very good food though. Who’d want to sit in a dialysis unit for hours? Would they be able to handle going through multiple surgeries with me? What about random emergency room visits and admissions?

Would children be able to handle that? I remember my mom being in and out of the hospital. I don’t remember it ever being a big deal in my mind because I was with my grandmother and I knew she was coming back. My grandmother cooked breakfast, drove me to school, made sure I did my homework, and spent time with me. I wasn’t alone.

Would someone be willing to do that for my kids if I had to stay in the hospital? Would they make sure they knew I would come back? Would they understand that I was sick but not broken — not a defective human.

Will they get bullied because I’m trans? Will they have to go through school without a true friend like I did? If they do get bullied, will they grow to resent me for it? Am I smart enough to help them with their homework? Can I help them set themselves up for success?

I look in the mirror and gaze at the man staring back at me.

I tell him to keep dreaming. I tell him to keep making goals and smashing them. I remind him of everything he’s overcome already. I stare at the beard starting to develop and remember when I didn’t think I’d ever get one.

“Keep going. You’re doing great,” I say, and I mean it.