For years, I believed my son’s struggles were my fault. When he raged, withdrew, or acted out in public, I felt like I was failing as a mother. Every angry outburst, every meltdown, every call from school felt like a flashing neon sign announcing: “You’re doing it wrong.”

If you’ve felt this way to...

I used to believe that my fierce love for my Black twins was enough to inoculate them against racism. But whiteness—my own unexamined assumptions, reflexes, and fears—kept showing up in the quiet moments of parenting.

Late one night, I noticed a tall Black man walking toward me on an empty street. ...

When my twins were toddlers, I remember being called out about their hair.

Strangers—Black strangers—would approach me in the grocery store or at the park with comments that, at the time, I interpreted as criticism.

“You’ve got to moisturize their hair.”
“Whew, they’re dry, mama.”

In my head, I w...

When my children were toddlers, I remember a moment in the grocery store—an older Black woman looked at my kids and said something about their hair. She was kind and gentle but I was taken aback. Defensive. Embarrassed.

Inside, I thought, Why are you criticizing me? I was doing my best. At the time...