Before I begin, let me say that this is simply a recollection of my own personal experiences. This is only a glimpse into the prejudices that I have experienced in my lifetime.
Growing up black has been kind of a roller coaster. There are days when I don't think about my ethnicity (good days) and there are days where I am forcibly aware of the fact that my skin color makes others look at me differently.
Here are a few of those instances:
CHILDHOOD
I remember reading storybooks and fairy tales and wondering why no one looked like me. Why were the brown characters always dirty servants faded into the background? What did that mean about me? Could I never be the lead role? Even today, when I read books and imagine the characters, they're always Caucasian in my imagination (unless the book explicitly says the ethnicity of the character). Isn't that strange? That it is so engraved in me that characters must be white, even in my own imagination?
One time on a playground, a kid told me they couldn't play with me because my skin was dirty.
It wasn't until we moved to Oklahoma that I realized that being black made me different from the other children. At the time, I was going into first grade. On my first day, I remember thinking, "I've never seen so many white kids in my life." We moved from Louisiana, where there was a wide assortment of ethnicity, so race was never a big deal. At least, not in my small elementary-school mind. This realization within me was only the beginning.
In high school, 95 percent of the time I was the only black female in any of my AP classes. If I ever did have a class with another black student, we made eye contact, made a nod of respect and strategically placed ourselves throughout the classroom so as not to be spotted and quickly pointed out as the only brown dots in the classroom by some jerk (which usually happened anyway).
Without fail, I'd always be asked what black people thought about certain pieces of literature, history, or societal history, as if I were the delegated spokesperson for blacks in America.
People would be shocked to learn that I was a black female athlete with straight A's, an above average vocabulary and a level head.
BEAUTY
Society spoon fed me the idea that white was right.
When my aunt would ask me what kind of hair I wanted, I always pointed to the typical Herbal Essence or Pantene photo or ad (which would never be my reality). No magazines had black women with their natural hair in it. Because nappy hair wasn't cute.
I hated my hair. I questioned my own beauty. If white was right, brown must be wrong. So what was wrong with me? Why was I made this way?
For years, my hair was chemically straightened. To fit in. To look the part. To this day, years after stopping relaxers, my scalp (and skin on my neck and ears) still bleeds from the wounds caused by years and years if chemical burns: A constant reminder of trying to be something I'm not. A token of attempting to look like everyone else. I quite literally tried to burn the black out of me.
I've had my hair called "fur" because humans don't have kinky, bushy, nappy hair.
There's so much more I can share with you, but I can't even continue because it's making me angry. Angry that I believed so many lies and allowed people to make me think less of myself and to make me feel like I wasn't beautiful.
For years, I dealt inwardly with actions and words that hurt me. I felt like because this is how society was, I had to just deal with it. Keep quiet. Turn the other cheek. But if no one steps forward, how can we expect these things to change?
I know I have it a lot better than those before me, but should I just be content with that knowledge, or do I fight for change? I don't want my [future] children to ever feel this way. Just like my predecessors fought for a better future for me, I have to fight for those that come after me.
I guess I'm saying all of this to prove a point. You never know what others are dealing with and you never know how your words or actions may affect them.
Most of all, LOVE YOURSELF. Don't let anyone else shape your own view of yourself. Learn what's beautiful about yourself and you'll find that the journey you took to find that beauty was the most beautiful part.
