“Black Love is Struggle Love”

But Do Our Issues Transcend the Obvious?

Asisa: When Kendrick’s ‘Mr Morale & The Big Steppers’ came out a few years ago, I remember that one of the most talked-about, memeified and replayed tracks was the 8^th, ‘We Cry Together’, a song which can only be described as a microcosmic representation for displays of romantic toxicity and gender division within the black community. It resonated with ears that belonged to those who may not have even experienced the ups and downs of a toxic relationship for themselves but were now listening to a summation of stories from their friends or plantain topics online in a way that criticised our approach to romance most authentically. This is to say that within the westernised sector of the diaspora, we’ve come to recognise yet normalise toxicity whether we intend to or not, and so felt a kind of familiarity in those words written, even where dating practices across black British and black American cultures differ in many ways.

Still, I guess the writing of this cross-post serves as evidence of our similarities. Having reached out to Kamory a couple of weeks ago to pitch a collab (or cross-post), I was determined to explore the area of love and relationships in writing (a feat unfamiliar for ‘Her Issue’). For a while I’d been following Kamory and reading her posts that sat so nicely in this genre. But what set her apart from so many relationship-centred Substacks was her commitment to a familiar candidness, one that we only ever really share with our close friends in conversation. I’ve noticed her writing promises to share with us what goes on behind the bedroom door, in a way all-too-similar to ‘We Cry Together’, which admittedly is playing in my headphones now to set the scene for today’s discussion. Anyway, after a while of brainstorming various different ideas for the post, Kamory decided to share some notes from an idea that she’d had a while back.

And so, she started to talk about ‘Struggle Love’ – a phrase which for me feels synonymous with settling or accepting or giving away or relinquishing those standards you so strongly stood behind in the past only to find them obsolete in the face of the one you ‘love’, irrespective of the fact that this feels more like normalised behaviour paired with a clock counting down than any true emotion.

“But will you stand by them?”

-A simple enough question when we don’t give it too much thought, but becomes far more complicated and increasingly less dignified as a relationship worsens and the struggle begins. It would be easy enough not to identify struggle with love if it weren’t so normalised within our community, whether it takes the shape of financial issues, emotional abuse or infidelity. But as so many have watched generations past appear content enough with struggle love as long as a small part of their idyllic childhood dream was being actualised, this practice became so heavily entrenched within our culture.

Make no mistake, the ways in which struggle love has managed to camouflage itself now, adapting to the general consensus and blending in with chameleon-like ease is impressive. When we watch videos of self-proclaimed relationship gurus they emphasise financial stability and aesthetics (but show high tolerance for cheating) or ramble on about ‘good women’ (whilst failing to play their part just as equally), it is so easy to absorb the message that ‘we can’t have it all’ and so naturally, too many simply settle for less.

It goes without saying that none of us are above accountability here. We know that happiness in love can exist in the black community (despite what Hollywood would have you believe), and so the decision to take part in or withdraw from this process is of course, ours. But nevertheless, like just about everything else, there is a racialized aspect to this somewhere, where struggle love exists in the long line of issues within the community that can be attributed to one historic tragedy or another, and so naturally, Kamory and I have been exploring it, like most black female authors on here can’t help but do.

Kamory: Struggle love inherently exists in Black Love. This isn’t to be mistaken for toxic, crazy shit. But rather, a deeper look into how systems that are aimed to keep Black people disenfranchised and marginalized continue to negatively impact how we engage with one another. Black love isn’t just about romance either– this can apply to friends and family. This has always been a long held theory of mine as I’ve transitioned into adulthood, now taking community and my interpersonal relationships with a more serious approach. I crave meaningful connections and relationships that are not surface level.

In me trying to build community, what I’ve realized is that an alarming amount of Black men are very avoidant. As for me, I’m one myself– but what I’ve recognized in this current day and age is that Black women are more likely to do the work to overcome this attachment style as compared to Black men. We pride ourselves on our personal development and growth– an indicator of our transition into grown womanhood. The girlies are journaling, meditating, breathing, practicing mindfulness, and writing affirmations on our stickies. We are investing in therapy sessions and unpacking our childhood trauma. We are confronting our relationship with perfectionism and control and choosing to surrender. But why aren’t Black men doing the same?

It seems as though Black men still find ways to uphold the patriarchy in their interactions with their loved ones. There is this sense of entitlement that they have over the Black women in their lives, finding little ways to establish dominance and make their perceived power known. Most times, it is very subconscious. Plenty aren’t even aware of their behavior and how harmful and triggering it can be to the Black women who they love so dearly. I think this has a lot to do with Black men feeling as though they have to prove their masculinity in their communities, since they are often belittled outside of those very communities. And when I say belittled, I don’t mean belittled in the sense of verbal abuse from White people– but in little ways, they are told that their value is tied to their sexual prowess, bodies, and looks. Black men are fetishized just as Black women are, but I feel as if that is rarely explored. I also observed that Black men feel this pressure to be hypermasculine all the time. That is how the world views them. Yet, they struggle with being in positions of power in the workplace or other spaces where they are in mixed company. Upon returning home, the pressure to assert dominance can lead to emotional detachment, leaving their partners seeking connection in a space that often feels closed off.

When pressed about their lack of emotional unavailability, most Black men refuse to look inside of themselves or to face their emotions. Why? To them, it’s much easier to keep up the facade of being stoic, anal, and detached because that is what serves as their armor in the real world. It is how they get by. Oddly enough, it often isn’t enough for them to be as seen and recognized as their White male counterparts. A relationship may be the only place where their dominance is respected, and they become addicted to that. Partners who are chasing, begging for connection, vulnerability fuels them and subconsciously validates their manhood. It makes them feel in control and plenty of Black men hold on to that. This is where they find their worth.

I think if we’re going to talk about avoidance in Black men, we also have to discuss the pervasive racism that they experience on a day-to-day basis that has moulded them into this person. Even if we go way back and look into how stressed our grandfathers were during the Jim Crow era, I’d like to argue that it was probably hard and rare for Black love during those days to actually be healthy and sustainable, as both parties are grappling with whether or not they’re going to come home alive. That kind of anxiety hinders every relationship you have in your life. Despite the love that exists within Black couples, the coupling of love and trauma complicates the ability to cultivate relationships characterized by effective communication and healthy conflict resolution. The relationships forged in such historically fraught conditions, while deeply rooted in love, are often intertwined with struggles for survival. Many of our grandfathers were coping with these psychological tolls by gambling, resorting to the bottle, abusing drugs, or straying into full on infidelity or domestic violence. Therapy wasn’t an option– as that resource was not available to us during those times. We were battling things we didn’t even understand. How would we ever be healthy towards one another? How could we ever understand others if we didn’t understand ourselves? There were no tools. We didn’t even have a foundation to work off. And this is the nasty, insidious nature of racism. It doesn’t just affect one person. It hindered generations and our ability to connect with one another. When we delve into attachment styles—patterns that govern the way we navigate relationships—it becomes crucial and critical that psychologists and therapists explore the broader context of race and historical trauma. Our experiences as Black people are never solely shaped by parenting and early childhood, but are also deeply influenced by the socio-political landscapes we frequently inhabit. There is this intersection of individual, historical, and systemic factors that complicate our ability to form genuine connections with one another. A complication that white people will never experience.

These coping mechanisms are then passed down generationally and continue to impact Black people’s communication styles amongst each other.

There is this compassion I now have for us as a people when it comes to conversations surrounding Black love and relational dynamics. While toxicity isn’t something that should ever be promoted amongst us, there should be this understanding that our path to connections and building community will never model that of White people. This isn’t to enable our behavior, but rather a call for us to really sit down and delve into how all of our trauma as a collective race is harming us.

It is a call for us to be a little more compassionate with one another, as this world already refuses to do so.

Asisa & Kamory <3