Finding His Footing: A Young Black Man’s Fight to Stand Tall in a New College World - Ernest Usher
- Nov 16
- 3 min read
College hits different when you’re a young Black man stepping onto a campus where nobody knows your name, your story, or the pressure you walked in with. For a lot of guys, that first semester is a collision between who they were at home and who they’re expected to be now. Independence sounds good until it’s 2 a.m., the dorm is loud, the work is piling up, and you suddenly realize that every decision you make from here on out shapes the man you’ll become.
This article matters because too many young Black men start this journey without someone telling them the truth: college will test you—not just academically, but mentally, emotionally, socially, and spiritually. And how you respond determines whether you rise or unravel.
A young man arrives on campus alone. Back home, he was the funny one, the loyal friend, the kid adults said had “potential.” Now he’s surrounded by strangers, professors who don’t care if he shows up, and a campus culture that expects him to know who he is before he actually does. His confidence gets checked the day someone questions his intelligence in class. His patience gets tried when people expect him to represent all Black men at once. His pride gets poked when other guys seem more prepared, more socially connected, more financially stable.
Add in the temptations: parties that start at midnight, people offering shortcuts that look like opportunities, relationships that feel good but drain time, energy, and direction. He’s navigating identity, loneliness, and pressure—while trying not to disappoint his family, his community, or himself.
So how does he grow into a stronger man without losing control?
He learns to set boundaries early. Not every social invitation deserves a “yes.” Protecting his time protects his future.
He owns his mistakes without letting them define him. Missing an assignment isn’t a failure; letting shame stop him from getting help is.
He finds mentors—other Black men, professors, staff members—who understand the weight he carries. Guidance is not weakness; it’s survival.
He stays connected to purpose. When he remembers why he’s here, the noise around him gets quieter.
He learns discipline. Waking up for class even when he’s tired, studying when nobody is watching, choosing long-term gain over quick pleasure—that’s where real manhood forms.
He builds community, not a persona. Real friends challenge you, not distract you.
He takes care of his mental health. Therapy, journaling, prayer, meditation—whatever keeps him steady. Because strength isn’t silence; strength is self-awareness.
He rejects the lie that he has to be “hard” to be respected. Vulnerability and growth don’t make him soft; they make him unstoppable.
College is not designed to break him, though at times it feels like it’s trying. It’s designed to expose who he is so he can shape who he becomes. Young Black men deserve space to evolve, to stretch, to make mistakes, and to rise stronger. This article matters because too many of our brothers drop out of college—not from lack of intelligence, but from lack of support, direction, or belief in their own ability to overcome the obstacles thrown at them.
A young man can walk onto campus uncertain and walk off that stage at graduation transformed—not because it was easy, but because he refused to fold.
That’s the journey. That’s the pressure. And that’s the power.
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