The Black Male Infertility Story No One Talks About: "I Didn't Want to Do Anything Other Than Work"

"I Didn't Want to Do Anything Other Than Work"

"My family is fertile. They just popping out babies. I should just be popping out babies." - Brandon Johnson

When we talk about infertility, Black men are almost entirely left out of the conversation. Yet male factor infertility accounts for one-third of all fertility issues, and Black men face unique challenges that go far beyond medical diagnosis. From being ignored in doctors' offices to dealing with cultural shame around masculinity, Black men struggling with infertility often suffer in silence.

This is Brandon Johnson's story. His journey through male infertility, the depression, the isolation, the family shame, and ultimately, his path to fatherhood through adoption.

Moving Forward, Starting a Family

"It happened shortly after I got married," Brandon recalls. "Back then, early in my career, nothing was taken off in Chicago. We decided to move to Minnesota. I can't lie to my people in Minnesota. I was a little hesitant. It's colder than Chicago, and who wants to go someplace colder? That first year proved me exactly right. I was ready to run, but the job market was great. I finally got a job where I actually had insurance. We're just in a position where we're like, okay, let's start a family. And so we we're trying. And it didn't happen."

Like many couples, Brandon and his wife assumed conception would be straightforward. When months passed without success, medical testing became necessary.

The Diagnosis That Changed Everything

"I was like, Okay, this isn't right. And then my wife she got tested, and she came back fine. And I'm like it can't be me my family is fertile. They just popping out babies. I should just be popping out babies," Brandon explains.

The assumption that fertility issues must be female-related reflects a broader cultural blind spot. Male infertility is often overlooked, particularly in Black communities where virility and masculinity are deeply intertwined.

"So she got tested again, and her doctor is like, 'have your husband get tested.' I was a little reluctant, but I talked to a cousin of mine, and I got tested after that conversation. And the doctor was like, 'yeah, I didn't find anything here. Here's another doctor.'"

After seeing multiple specialists, the devastating diagnosis came: "I went to see the other doctor a few times, and basically [they] said that you're not producing sperm. [It was] some of the most painful news that I had [received], and I went into a depression."

The Real Talk About Male Infertility and Mental Health

Male infertility hits different when you're expected to be "strong" all the time. Depression from fertility struggles is real as hell, but Black men barely talk about it.

"I still carried on like normal. Minnesota is not a place you want to be homeless, and it's negative 40 sometime. So I'm like, Okay, I can't lose my housing. But I didn't want to do anything else other than work," Brandon shares.

The depression manifested as complete withdrawal from life beyond basic survival. "I'm very introverted by nature, so I had to open up to [my wife], because whenever she would try to open up to me, I would shut down. That didn't work well for the marriage, but we got through it."

Getting Completely Dismissed in Doctors' Offices

The medical system treats male infertility like an afterthought. For Black men? It's even worse.

"Being the [man in this space] is extremely rough because you're ignored. You're highly ignored. It's all about the woman. I seen a urologist, and he's talking to my wife about her, and I'm like dude, I'm trying to fix me so I can impregnate her. I'm not gonna say they don't care. But the excessiveness into the treatment aren't the same for men and women," Brandon recalls.

This medical dismissal extends to routine appointments: "So you get highly ignored, even when I went to the doctor with my wife. You know, he's asking questions, and I'm answering, but I'm ignored. Still. Which is unfortunate."

Brandon theorizes about why this happens: "I have a lot of theories, but the fact is is that most people believe that men are so hands off when it comes to their family that they, they believe that they're so hands off that they just ignore them. If they don't know anything, they're oblivious to what's going on, and, in fact, most men are very attentive to their family, and know what is going on, and want to resolve the issue just as much as the wife."

When Your Family Acts Embarrassed by Your Diagnosis

The shame from family hits different when you're dealing with male infertility as a Black man.

"In my own experience. I've done shame and support from my family, depending on who I'm talking to. I can honestly say that shame has come from the majority, and that support has come from two people legitimately…three or four," Brandon explains.

The family response was telling: "Family is like, 'you're gonna be okay. You can have children. Just keep trying. Why are you telling everybody? Keep this to yourself.'"

"People just want you to be quiet about it because somehow my diagnosis embarrasses them. When you have a diagnosis like infertility. For some reason people become embarrassed of you, embarrassed of your your thing going on."

Society's Perceptions of Black Men and Fertility

The intersection of race and masculinity creates additional layers of stigma for Black men facing infertility.

"Blacks are judged by their genitals. And Black men are judged by their genitals. I'm not gonna talk about size and like that…but it's that bravado more than anything. And that bravado gives a certain portrayal of [what] the world, thinks we are, and the world portrays it as if this is who we are," Brandon reflects.

"Society treats us as that is who we are, and so the idea of family is constantly taken away when it comes to Black men. But the majority of men majority of Black men want a family, they want that life."

The Grief Process: More Than Just Medical

Understanding male infertility requires recognizing it as a form of grief, not just a medical condition.

"Grief is really the loss of anything. People only associate grief with death, but anytime you lose something, you wonder, how come you're not working?" Brandon explains.

"And as human being unless you decide not to have children, having children as a rite of passage. And being that it's a rite of passage, we we look forward to it. You know, even those that say they don't want children eventually want children because of that rite of passage is something that comes natural."

"During that time you go through the grief and you go through the grief cycle where you're bargaining. You're depressed. You're trying to find a way out of it. It takes a long time to get accept to get to acceptance. And so that's why I say it's it's a form of grief, because you're grieving a lot. If I didn't want children I probably wouldn't even know I was infertile, but I did"

The Deep Desire for Fatherhood

Contrary to stereotypes about Black men and family involvement, the desire for children was central to Brandon's identity.

"I've always been a guy who wanted children. It was never. I don't want children. I wanted to be that family man. And so not being able to build a family in a way that you want to was extremely difficult news. I wanted 3 to 4 children. I still, do, quite honestly," he shares.

"And so, knowing that you it was, it was painful. It was like, How do I have children? What do I do? And that's what made the diagnosis hit so hard, because now it's work. Every time. You want a child, you know, and it it's not not easy. And everyone is telling you like, oh, you can just do this, and oh, you can do that. It's a lot of work. It's a lot of emotional baggage that you have to unload because you can't have your own. And they hear people complain about the children they have. It's a struggle."

Finding Support and Moving Forward

"Eventually I got to the point where I was healing, and I was like. No man needs to go through this. I couldn't find a male therapist. Finding male therapists who talk about infertility is a needle in a haystack. You don't see them, even to this day I only know of four, five," Brandon says.

This realization sparked Brandon's mission to help others: "That's how I came on this road, and I just learned more about infertility. Most of it talks about the medical side. But how do you deal with from an emotional standpoint, and from that emotional standpoint. How do you heal? Do you actually heal? Or do you learn to cope with it? There has to be a form of acceptance, because the loss of fertility is a is grieving, and to get over grieving, they have to accept it."

The Journey to Parenthood Through Adoption

"We did iui several times. We had seven attempts and seven failures, and everyone of them are emotional. We decided to adopt after the sixth one," Brandon recalls.

"We have a beautiful boy. That in itself was a whirlwind, not in a negative way because we became parents instantly. We got a newborn out the hospital. It was like Monday we were [child less] and Tuesday…here you go."

Learning to Live with Infertility

The question of "getting over" infertility reveals the ongoing nature of this grief.

"There's no way to truly get over it, you know. It's truly a death, and when you think of death we don't get over it, we learn how to cope with it. I will never deny my son or say anything bad, cause I truly love them. In many ways it has, it is healed, and though the pain, yes, I get the joy of becoming a parent, and I love it. But then I never wanted one child, and that's where it resurfaces," Brandon explains.

Finding Meaning in the Journey

Despite the pain, Brandon found purpose in his experience: "Infertility can give you perspective on the parent that you want to be. If you know you're going to keep trying until you have a channel. You can also prepare yourself to be the parent that you want. I believe that's the one advantage of infertility compared to having a child. Infertility you have to sit with it, you have to deal with it, and so you can daydream and put together a plan about how do you want to approach this. In many cases it has brought spouses closer together, and so behind the clouds there's always a ray of sunshine. I get to be the father I want to be, and if I would have had chosen any other way, I [don't] think I would have been the father I want to be."

What Brandon's Story Means for Other Black Men

Male infertility affects every community, but Black men deal with extra layers of bullshit from doctors who barely acknowledge them to families who act embarrassed about the whole thing. Brandon's story matters and needs to be told.

If you're a Black man reading this and dealing with fertility struggles, this shit is hard, wanting kids doesn't make you weak, and getting help takes strength. There are other guys like Brandon going through this too, even if nobody wants to talk about it.

Brandon Johnson shared his story through an interview with Reniqua Allen, founder of Oshun Griot. For resources and support navigating fertility as a person of color, visit Oshun Griot.