We Need to Talk About Emotional Manipulation in Black Families

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By: Jamila Gomez

There’s a difference between love and control—but in many Black families, that line has been blurred for so long, we’ve been taught to see them as the same thing.

Emotional manipulation isn’t always loud or aggressive. Most of the time, it shows up quiet and familiar, wrapped in phrases we’ve heard all our lives:

“After all I’ve done for you.”

“That’s just how I was raised.”

“You think you better than us now?”

It’s the guilt trip when you try to set boundaries. The silent treatment when you say no. The expectation that you’ll show up, pay up, and never speak up. And if you dare to name what’s happening, you’re suddenly the disrespectful one—the ungrateful child, the outsider, the problem.

In Black families, there’s often an unspoken belief that elders are above accountability, that “family business” should stay quiet, and that loyalty means silence—even in the face of harm. It’s a survival response rooted in real history. Our families have spent generations trying to hold it together under systemic pressure, economic struggle, and racial trauma. Control, shame, and fear became tools to protect and preserve. But those same tools are now damaging us from the inside.

When love is measured by obedience, and respect is weaponized to silence you, it’s not protection—it’s manipulation. And what gets dismissed as “just how they are” ends up becoming our emotional blueprint. It teaches us to ignore our own needs, overextend ourselves, and mistake guilt for connection. We carry that into our friendships, romantic relationships, and even into parenting, where the cycle threatens to continue.

This isn’t about blame—it’s about awareness. Because healing starts with naming what hurt us, not pretending it didn’t. And some of the things we normalized growing up were never okay. The problem is, if you try to break the pattern, you risk being labeled difficult, distant, or “not family-oriented.” But what they don’t understand is that choosing your peace isn’t abandonment—it’s protection, too.

Black families deserve better than cycles of emotional silence and manipulation dressed up as tradition. We deserve relationships built on mutual respect, real communication, and space to grow. But we won’t get there if we keep pretending that guilt is love and silence is strength.

We’re allowed to want more. We’re allowed to choose differently. And we don’t owe anyone our emotional freedom just to keep the peace.

The truth is that the only way to truly honor our families is to do the work they weren’t allowed—or willing—to do. That starts by being honest about what’s been passed down… and deciding which parts end with us.

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Cultural Gaslighting: “That’s Just How We Were Raised”

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By: Jamila Gomez

We’ve all heard it. You question something harmful—maybe a rigid gender role, casual racism, or toxic parenting—and someone shrugs it off with, “That’s just how we were raised.” It’s meant to end the conversation. But really, it’s a form of cultural gaslighting.

Cultural gaslighting happens when people use tradition or upbringing to excuse behavior that’s clearly harmful or outdated. It’s a way of shifting blame from individuals to culture, as if culture is a fixed, unchangeable force that can’t be questioned. This defense not only dismisses real harm—it also pressures people to doubt their own experiences, especially if they’re trying to unlearn or challenge the values they were taught.

Let’s be clear: culture is not immune to criticism. The way we were raised might have shaped us, but it doesn’t define us forever. Saying “that’s just how we were raised” doesn’t explain behavior—it excuses it. It turns culture into a shield instead of a context. Worse, it implies that calling out harmful norms is somehow disrespectful or disloyal.

This mindset often shows up in family dynamics. A parent might defend verbal abuse as “tough love.” A grandparent might justify a racist comment by saying “that’s just how it was back then.” But normalizing harm doesn’t erase it. And clinging to outdated behavior because it’s familiar keeps cycles of dysfunction going.

It also plays out in institutions. Schools, religions, and workplaces often resist change by invoking tradition. They treat critique as betrayal rather than an opportunity for growth. When people raise legitimate concerns, they’re gaslit into thinking they’re being too sensitive, too radical, or too angry.

But growth starts when we separate understanding from endorsement. Yes, we can acknowledge where we come from. We can recognize why certain behaviors or beliefs took root in our families or communities. But that doesn’t mean we have to carry them forward. The excuse of “how we were raised” becomes meaningless when we realize we now have the power—and the responsibility—to choose differently.

Unlearning takes effort. It means sitting with discomfort, confronting hard truths, and rewriting inherited scripts. But it’s not betrayal—it’s liberation. Challenging cultural norms isn’t a sign of disrespect. It’s a sign that we’re paying attention, that we care enough to want better—for ourselves and the generations after us.

So the next time someone says, “That’s just how we were raised,” ask: “But is that still okay now?” Culture evolves. And so should we.

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