June is here, and my mind is just incredibly heavy. Father's Day, Pride, Juneteenth, Men's Health Month... and honestly, just living. Everywhere I look right now, corporate marketing is just loud. The celebrations are in full swing, and the world is moving so fast. I seriously cannot believe June is already upon me! But while all this celebration and awareness is happening out there, I keep finding myself sitting on the sidelines, just thinking. Thinking about all the beautiful Black men in my life and those I’ve crossed paths with at some point along this journey. I see them. In ways that I simply can't put into words. I love them. Simple. That's it.
When you love, you care. You assist. You protect. So as I sit here writing in my journal, my hope is that the people reading this can actually feel my love and hear me louder than the silent crisis that is quietly drowning our men out. I guess this is just a segment of my love letter to you, Black man.
I’ve been sitting here really thinking about what it actually means to care for a Black man's body. I see how society just consumes them, builds whole industries off them, and expects them to be completely indestructible, but rarely does anyone actually check on their internal wellness. Social media algorithms are so fucked up, too. I watch friends vent about their men, and suddenly their whole feed is showing hate... video after video. I’m thankful my algorithm is the opposite. I have the feed of a hopeful romantic lol.
I grew up in a house full of men—my brothers, their father, uncles. And beyond that, I always walked by a whole lot of men on the Block. They were all around. Their presence was always known around me. I know that they have hearts. I know that they love. I know how they groom, how they eat, how they care about the women in their lives. And I also notice how many times they can neglect their bodies. I watched my brother slowly die in front of me due to disease, so yes. I see them differently.
Earlier this year, my Dad and I happened to have this conversation about his upcoming doctor’s appointments. Our conversations are very open so it wasn't a shock to me when he mentioned having his prostate examined. I simply listened. As he spoke on the phone, I could hear the raw fear trembling in his voice, and the day prior to his exam I could hear the tears getting ready to release as we talked. I followed up via text to see how it went. He faced his fears and got the exam. Because of his bravery and openness with me, I text him to ask his opinion about the whole experience, and his response wasn’t some stoic, detached answer. He sent me a message that just laid his guard completely bare.
The Message from My Father
"Well, first of all, when somebody—specifically a doctor—tells you that they want you to get this test, you know if it comes back positive then the next step procedures that you have to go through... your whole life has changed upside down. And for me personally, I love old people because I want to be one of them someday. But in all reality, the fear of knowing doesn't outweigh the fear of not knowing. Basically, you want to know. If you do have it, you want it to be caught early, and you want to know what the treatments are. The fearful thing is the procedure—going through the pain and all of those different things. What I could tell every Black man—because statistically speaking, I know it for a fact—we don't like freaking hospitals and prostate screenings, regardless of what people believe."
Reading that again... Thank you Daddy for lending your voice and sharing your experience.
No matter what the world tries to make me believe, I know that fear can absolutely exist in the Black man just as it does in me. I see it—they aren't avoiding the doctor because they don't care; they are avoiding the terrifying vulnerability of a system they don't trust and the fear of a diagnosis that could turn their world upside down. As women and partners, we have to be open to holding space for that fear without judging them for it.
But this silence I’m observing, it runs so much deeper than just avoiding the doctor’s office. I see it when I’m dating, when I’m hanging out with my homeboys, or when I’m just observing the men in my inner circle. I’ve seen what y'all pack into overnight bags, the hygiene products in y'all bathrooms, and “performance products” on y’all nightstands.
I have seen them dump baby powder in their underwear to stop sweat, use cheap chafing creams full of harsh chemicals, and aerosol sprays like Axe to mask odor. When I worked in that adult novelty store, I remember having to redirect their purchases away from those sketchy numbing creams they use in secret just to live up to some unrealistic expectation of sexual performance. I just couldn't believe how unregulated these products were and that the men in my community were using them. I am sitting here wondering if I should dig deeper into the absorption of toxic substances near the prostate in the next entry. I feel like I need to. As a matter of fact, I think I will do that in the next journal drop.
They were quietly poisoning themselves just to maintain a shield of strength, all because the real conversations about their anatomy are buried in shame.
The "No, No, No" Zone
And then there is the ultimate boundary: the anus. I’ve been in rooms full of my homeboys, listening to them talk, and the moment anything regarding the anus comes up—whether it’s a life-saving rectal exam from a doctor or a partner offering intimate, partner-centered care—the energy changes instantly. It’s a complete defensive lockdown. “No way, nobody is going near there, period.” They immediately associate anything touching that area with homosexuality, wrapping their anxiety in defense mechanisms.
But sitting here on the sidelines viewing this... it's not just the men. Women contribute heavily to this fear and judgment, too. I’ve heard women make slick comments and jokes, emasculate men, or question their sexuality just because they had a finger in their anus for a medical checkup, or maybe they just want to enjoy anal pleasure. I see the very women who say they love the Black man build the walls of shame right alongside them. Sitting on the sidelines, I can see the genuine terror in their eyes beneath the jokes. There is this massive, unyielding wall around that part of their body. And it breaks my heart because I know that intimate play can not only bring pleasure but it can help one get familiar with the anatomy as well. You simple cannot protect what you do not understand. I’m thinking I will share why being familiar with your anatomy can be life-saving in the next journal drop.
The fear of judgment from the world, and from the very women who love them, is so intense that men will literally choose to risk death before they drop that specific guard.
I Choose to Center Black Men's Health During This Celebratory Month
I want whoever is reading this to just stop and pause for a second. Really think about it. Yes, our existence wouldn't be here without the Black woman. That is absolutely true. But our existence really wouldn't be here if we didn't have the Black man, either. I understand that patriarchy has been something that is very prevalent in our communities and our society. But in our homes, in our Black society, we can't forget to nurture the Black man as well. He's had a rough time along this journey, just like I have.
I keep coming back to this everyday thought: sustaining the lives of Black men is a prerequisite for our very existence. When we lose a Black man to late-stage prostate cancer because he was too afraid, too wrapped up in medical mistrust, or too locked down by the stigma around his own anatomy to let a doctor or a partner help him, we aren't just losing an individual. We are looking at the literal breaking down of the Black family structure. It is a slow-rolling erasure of our collective spine.
Protecting our men isn't a secondary issue to be pushed aside this month. It is a radical act of self-preservation for our entire community. We need our brothers, our fathers, our partners, and our sons here. Healthy, whole, and completely protected. My mind is made up. This month, I’m clearing off my own nightstand first, and I’m going to use my musings to chip away at this shame.
You know what? I have decided as I am writing this piece that I will dig deeper into product toxicity. And I'll dig a little bit deeper into why there is so much shame around that part of our anatomy, especially when it comes to men. Specifically that part of the anatomy when it comes to men. I wonder why it exists in the first place. And because pleasure is my joy, and talking about it is my joy, I feel as though I definitely need to get into stimulation versus the stigma regarding the anus. I'm going to do this because I know that those who actually get to sit down and read this will be able to read it in the privacy of their own home without judgment. And most importantly, somatic reclamation. Taking our bodies back and our connections to them is something that I value, and I want you to value it, too. We're going to talk about this before this month is out.
So stay tuned. If you're reading this now, make sure you text DIGEST to the number on the right side of your page to ensure you get notified when the next journal entry drops.