We Are Still Worthy: Single Black Mothers & the Kings Who Stand in the Gap

by Blakkmomba | Momba Raw and Unfiltered Podcast
| Companion Podcast:

Kings Unchained: Black Love, Unfiltered

I’ve spent so much of my life loving Black men who didn’t know what to do with that love.

Who saw my strength as competition.

My children as baggage.

My softness as a threat.

And still—I kept loving them. Even when it hurt. Even when it humiliated me. Even when it hollowed me out.

Because something in me never stopped believing in them.

Even when they walked away.

Even when they called us names that mirrored the pain they never unpacked from their own mamas.

Even when they saw me as everything but worthy.

So when love did show up—from Black men—unprovoked, unperformed, and unafraid?

It didn’t just surprise me.

It shattered something.

It touched something I had stopped reaching for—

the quiet belief that maybe, just maybe, I was worth showing up for.

Watching real love stay. Watching black men—good black men—show up with no agenda. No ego. No performance. Just presence. Just covering. It shifts the narrative.

Being a single mother carries a stigma. Let’s tell the truth. We’re judged before people even know our names. Labeled as failures. As burdens. As statistics. The world tries to place a silent weight on us—like we and our children are somehow unworthy of love.  I often feel like love skipped over us and left shame in its place.

And being a single Black mother of multiple children? That weight gets heavier. The judgment hits harder—especially from black men. We’re called “loose,” “ran through,” “easy.”

And what hurts the most,  A lot of the same men that say these things were raised by single mothers or grandmothers.

Are they not worthy?

I often wonder—did the seed of that resentment start there? A lot of black men seem to have inherited a seed of bitterness toward the very women who carried them. That is sad to me.

I carry a lot of love in me. Sometimes too much. It spills over. It splits the seams. And despite everything—I still love Black men with my whole heart.

They are everything to me.

I just wish they loved us back.

That they looked at our sun-kissed skin with reverence.

That they saw our worth and wanted to protect it not destroy it.

To lift us up as the goddesses we are. As the wombs of worlds.

But truth is—I’ve been used. Hurt. Abandoned. Yet, I still want to be seen by them. Loved by them. Cherished.  And I know they’ve been broken too—by systems, by the world, and yes, by us Black women too.

So I try to hold empathy.

I try to understand.

I try to hold space.

That’s why when a few Black men in my life—men I never knew felt so strongly about me—decided to stand in the gap for me and my girls during one of the lowest seasons of my life, it shook me.

Physically, spiritually, financially—I was depleted.

And they showed up.

No quid pro quo. No obligation. No hidden motive.

Just love.

Just covering.

Just presence.

It broke something open in me.

They didn’t just show up—they covered me. Covered my daughters. Girls without fathers. Without strong male presence. And y’all, that kind of love?
It’s not common.

It’s sacred.

These men saw me. Really saw me. And chose to stand in the gap. For no reason other than it was on their spirit to do so.

My soul cried. I didn’t even know I needed that. Didn’t believe I’d ever receive it. But I did. And they know who they are. I love them deeply for loving on me and mine.

God knew I needed that.

To feel seen.

To feel safe.

To remember that good men still exist.

And that kind of love?

It heals.

It restores something this world tries to snatch away from us—hope.

Hope in black men. Hope in black families. Hope in black love.

Their love  reminded me of something this world has forgotten:

The importance of black men.

Their presence.

Their protection.

Their power to shift legacies and communities with their love.

To the Black men who choose to love without condition:

You’re more than your job, your money, your image.

You ARE  Kings.

You ARE gods walking this earth.

When you move with intention and love?

You don’t just shift households—you shift generations.

You heal.
You restore.

We need you to survive.

The love you gave me during my lowest moment?

There aren’t enough words.

But I will say this: I pray it returns to you tenfold. You deserve love and covering too.

To every single mother with more than one baby—listen to me…

Don’t let this world, a man, or a damn statistic make you feel like you are less than. You are walking, breathing accountability. Every child you chose to keep is proof you didn’t run. You showed up.

You will make mistakes.

Your kids may one day tell you how your pain spilled over.

That doesn’t make you a bad mother. That makes you human.

And one day, they’ll see—you did the best you could with what you had.

Don’t parent from guilt.

Don’t force relationships with people who abandoned you or your kids.

Love doesn’t need DNA to be real.

Some of the most powerful families are built from spirit and choice.

Stop letting the world define your motherhood by a number.

You are raising legacy. You are preparing whole humans.

Ask for help.

Protect your peace.

Your worth is not tied to your bank account.

Presence over Presents. Every single time.

Pray over your babies.

Cover them.

Guide them.

And keep showing up.

Those who see your light and value your authenticity will love you fully—as a woman, a mother, and a divine force on this earth.

You are not less than.

You are not damaged.

You are chosen.

Keep believing in love.

@Blakkmomba