By Dr. Dana Bazemore-Jolly

A phrase I have heard throughout my professional experience deserves a second look: non-traditional family. Working with children and families receiving mental health services has taught me that families rarely fit neatly into the boxes we create for them. I have worked with parents and caregivers in families that include single mothers, single fathers, grandparents, blended families, relatives raising children, co-parenting arrangements, and households shaped by circumstances that cannot be captured by a checkbox on an intake form. What I have learned is simple but powerful: a family does not have to look traditional to be healthy, loving, protective, and profoundly important to a child.

In fact, sometimes the adult sitting across from me carries a family story that began long before the child entered the treatment setting. The statistics remind us that American families are already more diverse than the phrase “traditional family” suggests. The U.S. Census Bureau’s family and living-arrangement data track children living with parents, grandparents, and in other household arrangements. Census data show that in 2023, about 3.2 million children under 18 lived with cohabiting parents, up from 2.2 million in 2007.

Among Black families, these conversations carry additional cultural and historical significance. Black families have long relied on extended kinship networks to nurture, protect, and raise children. Grandmothers, aunties, uncles, cousins, older siblings, family friends, and community members can be essential caregivers. Research from Child Trends describes extended kin and social networks as an enduring cultural asset of Black families, providing emotional support, practical assistance, and resources that help families weather challenges. Calling these families “non-traditional” can unintentionally suggest they deviate from some preferred standard, even though, for many Black families, interconnected caregiving is part of the family tradition.

“… I am not simply interested in identifying who is listed as “Mom” or “Dad.” I want to understand who shows up. Who knows when the child is struggling? Who receives the call from the school?

That distinction matters in mental health care. When a child enters the treatment setting, I am not simply interested in identifying who is listed as “Mom” or “Dad.” I want to understand who shows up. Who knows when the child is struggling? Who receives the call from the school? Who makes sure homework gets done? Who knows what the child likes to eat when upset? Who recognizes the difference between ordinary childhood behavior and a significant change in mood, sleep, appetite, behavior, or functioning? Those questions tell me far more about a child’s support system than any family label ever could.

Black children deserve mental health systems that distinguish between family structure and family functioning. According to SAMHSA’s 2024 National Survey on Drug Use and Health data, an estimated 364,000 Black adolescents ages 12 to 17 experienced a major depressive episode in 2024, and 44.7% received mental health treatment. That means more than half did not receive treatment. That number should make all of us pause.

When a Black child enters the mental health system, the question should not be, “Why doesn’t this family look like other families?” The better question is: What does this child need? Who is available to provide it? What barriers stand between this family and care? And how can we strengthen existing relationships?

I have seen parents arrive exhausted yet determined. I have seen caregivers fiercely advocate for children while navigating schools, work, transportation, finances, healthcare systems, and the emotional demands of parenting. I have seen children communicate distress through behavior long before they have the vocabulary to explain what hurts. These families do not need professionals to arrive with assumptions. They need professionals who listen.

They also need us to stop conflating parental imperfection with parental failure. Every parent makes mistakes, every family experiences conflict, and every child goes through difficult seasons. A family under stress is not automatically dysfunctional. Our responsibility is to distinguish between family stress and family dysfunction.

To those who may argue that I am “lowering the standard” for Black families by challenging the traditional-family ideal, I respectfully disagree. I am raising the standard for how we define family well-being. A healthy family is not defined solely by marital status, household composition, income, or whether every member shares the same last name. Healthy families are built on safety, consistency, accountability, affection, communication, advocacy, and connection. So let us stop asking whether a family is traditional enough.

Let us ask whether the child feels safe enough to be honest, loved enough to be vulnerable, supported enough to struggle, and connected enough to know someone will show up. That is the work. Parents, caregivers, educators, clinicians, faith leaders, and community members: look beyond family structure. Look for relationships. Strengthen the village. Listen before labeling. And when a child needs mental health support, help the family access it without shame. Our children do not need us to build perfect families. They need us to build healthy ones.