Her Pain Is All Our Pain

Women’s issues have become an increasingly urgent focus - not because these challenges are new, but because we’ve reached a moment when the silent majority can no longer remain silent. Whether it’s the rise of “trad wives,” the rhetoric of incels, or the subtle oppression disguised as “family values,” the message is the same: women’s empowerment is more necessary now than ever.

And I want to share why.

As some readers know, my father was the first Black Catholic priest in the State of New York and the fourth in the country. I didn’t learn any of this until after he passed away. I knew he had attended seminary for college, but I never knew he had taken the rites of the priesthood.

He never told his children because of shame. In the 1930s, every Catholic family was expected to produce a priest, monk, or nun. My mother later told me that even if it wasn’t always spoken aloud, it was absolutely an expectation.

Whenever I share this part of my father’s story, people always give me the same puzzled look: “I thought priests weren’t allowed to marry?”

Then I tell them about the love story between my parents - and the discrimination that shaped it. The Church allowed my father to become a priest, but because he was Black, they refused to give him a parish. The hypocrisy and racism of that era were not unique to the Church, but it was deeply disillusioning for a man who had placed his faith in the institution.

Eventually, the Bishop of New Jersey took my father under his wing and assigned him to work as an editor for a Catholic magazine. It was in that office building that he met my mother.

I share this story in nearly every speech I give - partly out of pride for his fortitude, and partly as a way to counter the shame he carried. Leaving the priesthood was considered nearly heretical at the time. It simply wasn’t done.

After he died, my mother told me the full story. I had known for years that he had once been a priest, but he and I never had a conversation in which he acknowledged it. After my mother passed, I found documents from the Vatican releasing him from his vows, along with letters showing how they had searched for him and other “wayward” priests.

I share all of this because shame is one of the most damaging emotions we carry. Shame kept my father from attending his own mother’s funeral. Shame kept him from ever speaking to his son - as a child or as an adult - about one of the most defining chapters of his life.

But one day, he told me a story that changed everything. It transformed him from simply “my father” into a man I deeply admired.

He was standing in our kitchen, staring at a painting my wife and I had recently bought - a boardwalk along a river. I asked if he liked it.

“Reminds me of my time on the Mississippi,” he said.

I was stunned. Growing up in Vermont, he had always warned us never to go south of the Mason-Dixon line. I was about to learn why.

He told me that during one summer, while in seminary, he took classes in Mississippi. “Hot as blazes,” he said. One afternoon, he and three classmates rented a rowboat to catch a breeze on the river.

“It was so hot that Smitty decided he was going to jump in and cool off.”

I asked, “Did you jump in too?”

“Hell no. I couldn’t swim.”

Now I was fully alert. “What happened?”

He kept his eyes on the painting. “Damn fool couldn’t swim a lick. The current pulled Smitty away from the boat.”

“What did you do?”

“We yelled to another boat nearby, screaming that our friend was drowning.”

My stomach dropped. “What happened, Daddy?”

He finally answered. “They yelled back, ‘Is he Black or White?’… Never saw Smitty again.” Then he turned away from the painting and walked down the hall without another word.  I stood there, trying to contemplate and process what I’d just heard.

I share this story because in today’s climate - filled with vitriol, division, and rising hatred - it matters. If there were ever a story that could justify a father teaching his children to hate another race, this would be it. It wouldn’t be right, but it would be understandable.

But he didn’t. He taught us that people are equal. That our deeds reflect our conscience, soul, and spirit. None of us is perfect, but we must learn, grow, and atone for harm. He taught us to love - and to deny ignorance, not hate it.

I’ve lived my own share of painful experiences because of the color of my skin.

But here’s the truth:

The same dynamic exists between men and women today.

There is a growing, vocal segment of society pushing misogyny as if it were a moral value. It isn’t. A woman’s right to live, earn, love, and exist freely is inherent - not granted.

Men, please don’t resent women’s empowerment. Don’t resist their growth or authority. And don’t presume to speak for all men when you diminish women.

People often ask why I’m so passionate about empowering women - why my coaching focuses solely on their empowerment and their relationships.

Here’s why:

We cannot achieve peace, unity, or even civil dialogue until we do one thing:

Ensure that women are protected as equals - fully empowered, fully valued, and fully recognized as essential contributors to our world.

Whether it’s shaming women for wanting careers, for not wanting children, or for refusing to be reduced to physical objects - we must do better.

Men, we need to stand shoulder to shoulder and let the women in our lives know that we stand with them, for them, and beside them.

There are men who believe they are entitled to control, to harm, to take. But entitlement is not manhood - no more than my skin color makes me lesser.

Because of this, it is and will continue to be my mission to fortify and empower every good-hearted woman I can. For the sake of the women in my life - my mother, my sister, my daughters, and every woman I’ve ever coached:

Men, stand up for the women of this world. Our future depends on it.

-David Jones

Founder, Captive Coaching and Empowerment, LLC