08/21/2025
EMOTIONAL MATH \\\ There is a particular brand of modern blindness I see, most often in certain circles of rich Black men. They have achieved wealth and believe that their financial success has somehow insulated them from the consequences of fragmented families. Cam Newton for example, has vehemently stated that his 8.7 (one is "cooking" his words) children are not in broken homes. He, and others like him, will tell you with absolute conviction that their children are not from a “broken home,” because every child is well-fed, well-clothed, and attends the best private schools.
This is what I call "broken home blindness,”and it is a profound and dangerous misdiagnosis of reality. A home isn't "broken" because it lacks a bank account. A home is broken when the family unit is fragmented, no matter how much money is in the bank. Money can provide a roof, but it can't provide a home. It can buy a lavish vacation, but it can’t buy a bedtime story every night.
A child’s well-being is not a line item on a budget.
PLOT TWIST!
The conversations we’ve been having about "broken home blindness" are deeply rooted in the psychology of attachment. Our attachment style—often formed in childhood—determines how we seek or avoid connection. The three main styles are secure, anxious, and avoidant. And when you examine the behaviors we've been discussing, you can see these styles in sharp detail.
Cam Newton and Nick Cannon seem to e classic avoidant-dismissives when it comes to attachment. An avoidant person learned early on that their emotional needs weren't consistently met, so they developed a hyper-independence. For a man, this often translates to a profound focus on providing financially—a tangible, controllable way to show care—while emotionally pulling away.
He can say his home isn’t broken because he genuinely believes the fragmentation is irrelevant. He’s prioritizing his anuptaphobic (yes anuptaphobia a is a real thing) comfort with independence over the child's need for emotional presence. Nick Cannon’s alleged realization that he "didn't consider the complexities" is a moment of brutal, dawning clarity where his avoidant strategy—the one that allowed him to have children with multiple women and avoid deep, singular commitment—finally crumbled under the weight of an impossible emotional reality.
Most won't say this, but I will: Money is easy. It's an exchange of a resource for a good or service. Parenting is a completely different currency—one based on presence, consistency, and emotional investment. These are the non-financial obligations that simply cannot be outsourced. When a man has children with multiple women, he becomes a logistical impossibility.
He cannot be at his oldest son's basketball practice in one city,
his daughter's ballet recital in another, and
his youngest child's parent-teacher conference in a third, all at the same time. You can't outrun the emotional math and that is precisely where the brokenness comes from.
In broken conclusion, after all this analysis of what's broken, the real question is, what are we going to build?
The final, most profound lesson is not a diagnosis of what's wrong, but a prescription for what's right. It's an appeal for a higher standard of love. We must teach our children that a healthy love is not defined by its ability to endure hardship, but by its capacity to create joy, stability, and peace. HEAVY ON THE STABILITY.
For the generations we are procreating, let us redefine the very idea of a "successful" love story. Let it be one where emotional presence is more valuable than financial provision. Where consistency is a greater gift than convenience. Where a stable family unit, no matter its shape, is the ultimate measure of wealth.
Our children deserve a legacy built on wholeness, not on fragmentation. They deserve to see love as a source of strength, not a source of suffering. We can do better. We must do better. The future of love, and the emotional well-being of the generations to come, depends on it.
P.S. Learn more about attachment styles with our free guide.CC
