Art Credit: Robert H. Marshall Jr.
By Robert H. Marshall Jr.
At the Waymaker Black Male Leadership Summit, Chicago was alive with Black excellence. I had the privilege of sitting down with some of the realest brothers out there—food critic Keith Lee, former NFL star and actor Devale Ellis, young mogul Ian Michael Brock, BET’s Louis Carr, Black Enterprise’s Alfred Edmond Jr. and therapist Dr. Jay Barnett.
Each man, no matter how far he’d come, had a common thread: the role of fathers and male figures who shaped them. Some of their fathers brought tough love, others came with wisdom or guidance, and even those who stumbled left lessons in their wake. They made one thing clear—without those figures, they wouldn’t be where they are.
But for every brother who shared a story about his father, it cut deep. There I was, a grown man, ashamed and embarrassed, feeling like a little boy playing dress up in a grown man’s body. In that moment being reminded of my father’s wounds.
Man, this ache never goes away—it’s a wound that doesn’t heal; you just learn to carry it. One brother summed it up best: “A man without his father is like a tree missing its roots; he can still grow, but he’ll always feel the storm a little harder.”
That message is rippling through communities, from the block to the big stages.
Oprah herself recently sat down with over 100 Black fathers in a virtual summit, spotlighting CDC data that shatters stereotypes. Among fathers living with their kids, 78% share meals, and 82% have daily conversations. And for those not under the same roof? They fight to stay present, battling against a system set up to keep them apart.
But let’s keep it ‘100’— fatherlessness is leaving scars.
The stats speak volumes: 63% of youth suicides, 85% of kids with behavioral issues, 71% of high school dropouts, and 85% of incarcerated youth all come from father-absent homes.
A missing father can cause children to spiral into generational pain. I felt pride standing in that room of powerful Black men, but part of me was mad jealous. They had something I’d always longed for—a dad. That missing piece cuts deep, but it’s also what fuels my mission to create spaces where men with the same void know they’re not alone.
For Black men like me, the journey to manhood and fatherhood without that guiding presence is heavy. I’ve wrestled with questions that seem too big to bear: Am I good enough? Why wasn’t I worth staying for?
These unanswered questions shape every step toward becoming a man, a husband, and, one day, a father.
The Epidemic of Black Fatherlessness
In college, my friends and I would meet up on holidays or in the summer to grill, only to realize that most of us didn’t even know how to work the barbecue. Out of all the successful brothers in that room, barely any of us had fathers around to teach us those simple things that help a boy grow into a man.
For a lot of Black men who came up in the ’80s and ’90s, not having a dad was the norm. “The War on Drugs” hit our neighborhoods hard, locking up fathers and ripping families apart. By 1990, almost 58% of Black kids grew up without a father, leaving a whole generation trying to figure out manhood on their own.
Imposter syndrome runs deep, like you’re wearing someone else’s armor. It’s a constant urge to measure up, always feeling short. Shame? It’s a lie that carves its initials into your heart—a few words won’t set you free from that.
Black Fatherhood Under Attack: The Larger Battle
We inherited a fight bigger than us.
Black fatherhood in America has been under attack for centuries. Slavery didn’t just work us to death; it tore apart family bonds to keep us in chains. Fathers, sons, brothers—separated, sold off, treated like property. Black men were forced to father children, sometimes with bags over their heads, sometimes with their own kin. And the strongest among us were sent to “buck breaking” camps, where they were beaten and violated in front of everyone on the plantation to crush any spirit they had left. This trauma didn’t end with emancipation; it sank deep into our bones.
These shadows? They’re stitched into our blood—a legacy of transgenerational trauma.
But it stops with us. No more “papa was a rolling stone,” no more broken roots. We’re the ones to break these chains, to rewrite what it means to be kings, to be fathers, to be whole. Let’s make this a legacy our kids can hold like fire, like pride, like strength in their veins.
Inside, every Black man is wrestling with a storm. Who am I outside of everyone’s expectations? Why do I have to keep everything inside? It’s like you’re walking around with armor you didn’t ask for, trying to live up to impossible standards. Society tells you to be one thing, family needs you to be another, and you’re just trying to figure it out without the one person who was supposed to show you the way.
There’s an anger that comes with this journey—a fire that can sneak up on you and take you places you don’t want to go. For years, I carried that quiet rage, that resentment I couldn’t name.
Some of that anger? Aimed right at God. Why’d You leave me like this? And then there’s the anger at those who stayed. I was mad at my mom, even though she did everything she could.
Part of me was frustrated, wondering why she chose a man who didn’t want me.
How To Break Through the Pain
Life dealt us a rough hand. We have every right to feel shorted, but here’s the truth I had to face: holding onto pain keeps us locked up. I had to stop seeing myself as a victim and start seeing myself as a survivor. Instead of asking, Why did this happen to me? I had to ask, What can I do with it?
To let go of that anger, I had to let it breathe. It’s real, and it’s valid, but holding onto it only poisons us. Whether it’s hitting the gym or finding a space to speak your truth, letting it out is necessary. And then there’s forgiveness—not so much for my father, but for myself. Forgiving myself for carrying guilt and shame that never belonged to me.
On this journey, I learned a hard truth: shame is a liar. It tells us we’re broken beyond repair, but that’s not the truth. In my book called “Shame is a Liar,” I talk about reclaiming our narrative, seeing ourselves as more than our wounds while laying out the essentials of manhood many of us never got.
We’re not bound by the stories we inherited. We can change them, rebuild from the inside out.
Together, we can choose to move from trauma to triumph, from victimhood to victory. Here are a few affirmations you can use to help rebuild your foundation.
- I’m breaking cycles and flipping my own story.
- I’m building legacies that’ll last long after I’m gone.
- I’m writing a new story—a story of power, resilience, and love.
- I have the right to define my own path.
- I’m worthy of love, and I’m free to show love without holding back.
- I am enough.
- I forgive, and am forgiving those who hurt me.
- I am no one’s mistake, I was made on and for a purpose that I will fulfill.
This journey isn’t easy, but it’s worth it—for us, our children, and every generation to come. This is our legacy, our story, and it’s a story worth telling. Let’s make it one of purpose, strength, and unbreakable resilience.
Robert H. Marshall Jr. (Photo Credit: Blake Martin).
Robert is one of the top empowerment and wellness empowerment speakers, and he’s on a mission to inspire 1 Million boys and men through his empowerment speaking. Robert’s journey to wholeness from bullying, fatherlessness, and sexual traumatic experiences make him the perfect advocate for boys and men looking to overcome adverse and traumatic experiences.
His story of academic challenges in school, fatherlessness, bullying, and sexual trauma, and low self-worth, is one that resonates with boys and men alike. Not only did Robert overcome the challenges of his past, but he eventually went on to graduate from an alternative High School on time, and then went to college and obtained multiple degrees in educational leadership. In addition to his educational success, Robert is also the author of six published books and is the successful owner of two companies.
You can reach Robert H. Marshall Jr. on social media via Facebook and Instagram.
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