Malachi’s Mummy

Occasionally, I look at Malachi and think, wow, I made this little person. His chubby cheeks, his gummy grin, and the way he giggles like I’m the funniest person alive. He’s my baby—innocent and unmarked by the world.

But then, every so often, I’m hit by the weight of what that really means. I’m not just raising a baby. I’m raising a Black boy who will one day grow into a Black man.

And the world? It has expectations for him: some good, some bad, and some unfair.

After finishing this blog it felt important to add a little context at the beginning to help you paint a tiny picture into what our lives are like and how that impacts my thinking on this issue. 

Babies vs. Men

So what inspired this line of thinking? 

A good friend of mine was speaking about men as it was International Men’s Day recently. He talked about how he’s grappling with what he sees around him, and how he’s sometimes disappointed that men aren’t stepping up. He mentioned that a key reason that some men weren’t reaching their potential was a core issue with identity. We had a short conversation where I shared some of my own thoughts but left thinking about Malachi. 

Babies are easier to talk about—they’re cute, they’re small, do adorable things like grab your finger and hold on tight like they’ve claimed you for life. It’s hard to imagine that one day, this same baby will be a grown man navigating a world that doesn’t always feel safe or welcoming for him.

The Weight of the Past

When I look at some of the men around me—I see the patterns. The disappointments, the brokenness. Some of it wasn’t their fault; systems failed them long before they even had a chance. Written off in school, pushed aside by society. The kind of men who were told to be strong, but never shown how to heal and reconcile with their tumultuous and sometimes traumatic upbringing.

It’s sad to see. We’ve seen what happens when broken men don’t get up, when they let their pain define them and pass it down to their children like a family heirloom nobody wanted.

But then there are the men who did get up. The ones who chose better. The ones who decided that the system, the family history, or the stereotypes didn’t get the final word. And that’s what gives me hope and peaks my curiosity as to how, what and why they made it out. I know it’s not simplistic or a one-size-fits-all but there must be patterns. Is it the family unit, money, faith, genetics, location – all of the above? 

The Long Game

Here’s what I’m learning: to raise a man, I have to think beyond what’s cute or convenient. Malachi’s only 11 months old, but even now, I’m shaping who he’ll become.

He’ll learn who he is by watching me and his Dad. How we speak to each other. How we handle stress. How we treat the people who can’t offer us anything in return.

He’ll learn what it means to be Black from how we talk about his heritage—not as something to overcome but as something to celebrate. He’ll learn how to be a man by seeing what manhood looks like in real-time: integrity, vulnerability, and strength that doesn’t need to prove itself.

And he’ll learn about God—not as a checklist of rules to follow but as the source of his identity. Because the world will try to tell him who he is, and when it does, I need him to be grounded enough to know that no one else gets to define him but the One who created him.

Will it be enough? Only time will tell. I hope and pray it is. 

A cruel world 

I’m not a man – newsflash! But I thought about my own childhood and some of the things that shaped my outlook on the world. 

Has anyone else heard the phrase “you have to work twice as hard to get just as far” growing up? It was meant as a protective mantra—a way of preparing us for a world that won’t always see or reward our full value. For me, it instilled discipline, resilience, and a strong work ethic. It said: don’t let the system hold you back, because you’re capable of pushing through.

But I think this mindset carries unintended consequences. While it acknowledges the reality of systemic inequality, it can also reinforce the idea that my worth is tied solely to how hard I work. As a young Black girl, I think it contributed to blurry lines between healthy ambition and perfectionism. It didn’t leave much room for rest, mistakes, or simply being. Instead, the pressure to constantly overachieve felt suffocating at times even leading to panic attacks in my teens, as though failure would confirm every stereotype I was trying to disprove.

When it comes to raising Malachi, I’m torn. I want him to understand the world’s challenges but not feel crushed by them. I want him to know the value of hard work but also the beauty of grace—both for himself and others. Maybe the better message isn’t “You have to work twice as hard,” but rather, “The world won’t always be fair, but you are more than enough regardless.” A message that prepares him to navigate reality while affirming his worth doesn’t depend on proving himself to anyone.

What About Us?

Am I ready for this kind of parenting? Absolutely not. Most days, I’m just trying to get through the mess of now—figuring out what his babbles mean or how to stop him from putting everything in his mouth. He’s like a snail, leaving a trail of dribble everywhere he goes! 

To be honest, I’m at peace with not having it all figured out right now. It’s ok to be present, prayerful, and intentional trusting that these musings will one day materialise into lessons that Malachi will take on. 

The reality is I’m raising a baby who will eventually be a man in a world that doesn’t always love Black men. But Malachi? He’ll know he’s loved. He’ll know he’s chosen. He’ll know that no matter what anyone says, he has a God-given identity that no one can take from him.

We all know someone who started off with what we thought was the best start in life and ended up making some interesting and unwise choices. Ultimately we can pour in as much goodness as possible and people will always make their own choices. 

The only thing I can do is pray that what we do is enough because if we aren’t intentional about helping to shape his identity, someone else will.