"Pretty, for a dark-skinned girl." No, pretty period!
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Wearing “the natural” back in 2001 before it became trendy, proved to be a surprisingly emotional journey. What made it emotional? The fact that I got the most negative reactions from my own...other black women.
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In a southern small town far far away... lived a little black girl who “wasn’t like other black people.” For as long as I can remember white people and black people alike have been telling me that I am “not like other black people.”
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Mental health is such a hush-hush conversation in the black community that when you do try to talk about it, it’s like you said a bad word. I can see it now, you come in from school with a grimace on your face and the first thing mama says is “girl, you better straighten up that face before you come in here! What’s wrong with you?” When you try to explain that you had a bad day, the response was often, “Ain’t nothing wrong with you. What you got to worry ‘bout, you’re just a child?”
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“Oh my gosh, baby, I am so proud of you. This is such a beautiful house. Now all you need to do is fix your hair and lose a little bit of weight”. These were the words my mother spoke when she toured the house
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YouTube tutorials have a weird way of giving you a false sense of confidence. We ALL have a failed tutorial story.
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In my practice, I am privileged to be able to work alongside Black womxn on their journeys of healing and self-discovery. I think we can admit that Black womxn are in fact magical. We are literally able to do all the things, all the time. We have a certain glow, a mixture of both strength and softness. We are able to get things done, in spite of. And with that magic comes decades of pain. See being a Black womxn, is an interesting place of intersectionality where we are required to think about how both our race (read: racism) and gender (read: patriarchy) shapes our life experiences.
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Picture it “Brooklyn 1991.” I was riding the B52 bus with 3 other friends on my way home from school. I was in 6th grade and girls in my school were getting their hair relaxed…except for me.
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Four years old. That’s also how old I was when I received my very first relaxer. Unbeknownst to me, it was also the beginning of my journey to loving myself.
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“Come as you are” has always been one of the lines from Church that has always made me roll my eyes. Mainly because no one actually means “come as you are.” I mean if I showed up at Church on a Sunday in a mini skirt and crop top, it would be a topic of discussion for years to come! I’m also the Pastor’s daughter, so could you imagine the after-church tea that would be sipped?!?! When you come to church, you are expected to come in your Sunday best. If you have ever had the privilege of attending a traditional Black Church of any denomination you know exactly what I mean. Everyone is dressed to impress in their hats and suits. Someone’s Sunday Best is usually their top tier clothing, if they aren’t going to slay anywhere else during the week, they are going to shut it down at Church on Sunday. What if I told you though that this false sense of coming as you are to church doesn’t just start with what we wear?
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One afternoon while watching Disney’s CoCo for the umpteenth time, myself laying on the couch as my daughter and granddaughter are laying on the floor in front of me (46yo)- my granddaughter, 5 years old, popped up and said, “Noni, are you a Black girl?”
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