Dear Black Woman: From a Man Who Still Believes in Love
by Pastor Timothy D. Hayes Jr.

Dear Black Woman,

Let’s talk for real. No filters, no podcast segments, no cameras—just a man talking to the women he still believes in. I know a lot of y’all are tired of hearing men talk about women, but this one ain’t coming from ego; it’s coming from ache. Because I’ve watched love lose its flavor in our generation. I’ve watched sisters who used to smile soft now move with suspicion. I’ve watched brothers who used to chase peace now chase distractions. Something changed, and if we don’t admit it, we’ll keep confusing pain for power.

I get it. You’ve been lied to, left, used, blamed, raised to survive, not to rest. You watched your mama do everything—raise kids, pay bills, handle men who promised help but brought headache. You learned that the only person you could depend on was you. So when somebody says, “Let a man lead,” it sounds like surrender, not partnership. When somebody says, “Be soft,” you hear, “Be silent.” You built a version of strength that keeps you alive but also keeps you alone. You call it independence, but sometimes it’s just exhaustion dressed up in ambition. You say, “I don’t need nobody,” but you still cry when the house is quiet. I’m not judging that—I see it. We all created that cycle together.

Look at the culture we breathe in. Every scroll, every song, every video teaches us that love is a liability. The music that raised our parents taught patience and promise—Luther, Anita, Donny, Mary J, they sang about working it out. Now the playlist shouts competition. City Girls tell you to get the bag. Future tells him to keep his options open. Megan says she’s the boss. SZA says she’s numb. Drake plays both sides. It’s catchy, it’s fun, it’s power for three minutes—but when the beat stops, we still got emptiness echoing through the room. When did the soundtrack of the Black community become a therapy session for unhealed hearts? When did “toxic” become a compliment? We dance to pain like it’s progress, and then wonder why relationships feel like remixes of regret.

And I’m not saying stop dancing. I’m saying stop letting the culture teach you what confidence means. Somewhere along the way, we started performing freedom instead of practicing it. We party through the pain. We say, “Outside,” when we really mean, “I’m hurting inside.” We turn girls’ night into escape night, post pictures of smiles that hide storms. Liquor can’t heal heartbreak, and turning up don’t turn trauma off. You can keep telling yourself it’s self-care, but healing ain’t at the bottom of that bottle. It’s in the mirror you keep avoiding.

What hurts the most is watching sisters trade value for validation. You used to dress to express; now you dress to distract. You used to talk to be understood; now you talk to prove you don’t care. That’s not freedom—that’s fatigue. You’ve been surviving on applause when what you really need is affection. The world told you to prove your worth instead of protect it. But every time you sell your peace for attention, you discount what makes you priceless.

I know where it started. A lot of it came from being raised in chaos. When love hurt early, independence became your safety plan. And when you finally grew up and met men who looked like the ones who hurt your mama, you built armor instead of trust. You learned to lead every conversation, pay every bill, control every move—because control felt like comfort. But baby, control and peace are not the same thing. You can run the world and still be restless. You can win every argument and still feel unseen. You can post success and still cry yourself to sleep because no one sees past the image.

And men—we played our part. Too many brothers stopped showing up. We traded discipline for dopamine, chasing women instead of wisdom, using “player” as an excuse for immaturity. We watched women carry everything and then blamed them for being hard. That’s on us. Real men have to learn how to rebuild trust where we broke it. But I’m telling you, there are still men who want to do exactly that—men who aren’t intimidated by your grind, men who just want your gentleness to survive your goals.

You can be strong and still soft. You can be independent and still invite partnership. You can make money and still make space for love. Strength isn’t about never needing anyone; it’s about knowing who’s safe enough to need. But right now, too many women confuse loneliness with liberation. You think rejecting love keeps you safe, but it only keeps you stuck.

Let me be honest—it’s not just your mindset, it’s our entire environment. We don’t build community anymore; we build content. We don’t love people; we love potential followers. Everything’s a brand, a trend, a look. We forgot that intimacy means “into me see.” Now we hide behind filters, hiding pain behind perfect lighting. Social media convinced everyone they have endless options, so nobody learns how to cherish one person. If something hurts, we scroll away. If someone disappoints us, we replace instead of repair. That’s not evolution—that’s escapism.

You can’t say you want a real man while living in a fantasy world built on algorithms. Real men still exist—but they’re tired of fighting your phone for your focus. They’re tired of competing with curated confidence. They don’t want a woman who’s perfect for the internet; they want a woman who’s peaceful in real life. The one who knows her worth without screaming it, who can pray and laugh in the same breath, who still believes love is a partnership, not a power struggle.

And to my sisters who’ve been hurt beyond words—who’ve endured assault, abandonment, or betrayal—I’m not here to minimize that. I’m here to remind you that healing is still possible. The world told you to move on, but you can’t move on until you move through. Until you let the little girl inside you exhale and believe again. You don’t have to carry every wound like a trophy. You deserve softness again. You deserve to be loved gently, without suspicion. But to receive that, you have to make room for it. You can’t keep love out and expect it to break in politely.

You see, love isn’t dead; it’s just drowning in noise. Between the hustle, the heartbreak, and the hashtags, we forgot how simple it used to be. Love used to look like two people choosing each other every day. Now it looks like two people proving who can care less. But somebody has to stop the competition. Somebody has to be brave enough to say, “I still believe in us.” That somebody can be you.

This is your challenge, and I know it might sting: stop letting pain define your personality. Stop auditioning for validation. Stop confusing being desired with being valued. You don’t need to act hard to earn respect. You don’t need to trade tenderness for attention. Real strength is quiet. Real femininity is power with patience. Real independence is being whole enough to choose love, not chase it.

And to every woman reading this thinking, “Men don’t appreciate that anymore,” let me speak for the ones who still do. We see the woman who’s raising kids and still chasing dreams. We see the one who prays for us even when we don’t pray right. We see the one who holds us accountable without cutting us down. We see the one who loves without audience. That’s the woman we crave—the one who makes peace feel like home.

We don’t need you to be perfect. We just need you to be present. We don’t need you to shrink; we just need you to trust that softness isn’t weakness. We want the good girl—not the naive one, but the grounded one. The one who can still smile without spite, still love without limits, still believe without begging. The one who remembers that being a woman of worth ain’t about labels or likes; it’s about light. The one whose presence quiets a man’s chaos instead of matching it.

Dear Black Woman, I know life made you tough, but don’t let it make you bitter. I know culture made you cautious, but don’t let it make you cold. The world will keep telling you you’re too much or not enough. Tune them out. Remember that the same God who gave you ambition also gave you affection. You were built for balance. Don’t bury your softness trying to survive.

When the music stops and the makeup’s off and the world gets quiet, what’s left should still be peace. You deserve that kind of love. And believe it or not, there are still men who want to give it. Men who want to build, not break. Men who want to cover, not compete. Men who still believe that the good girl is the prize—not because she’s perfect, but because she’s pure in her intention.

So yes, this letter might upset you. It might make you rethink some of the things you’ve been proud of. That’s okay. Growth always starts with discomfort. But if one woman reads this and says, “Maybe I don’t have to perform strength anymore,” then it’s worth it. Because the truth is simple: real men still want real women. We still want the good girl. We still believe in love.

Always,
Timothy D. Hayes Jr.