Unfortunate Truths

“Characters don’t live happily ever after and find hope in the darkness. There is only hope in light. Every day I lived was proof of that."

Confrontation with My Colorism

Lost Girl

I have always hated my skin color. I have always hated how dark I am because there is nothing good about darkness; not in literature or movies. Characters don’t live happily ever after and find hope in the darkness. There is only hope in light. Every day I lived was proof of that. White families were happier in my eyes, they had more and if they struggled, it was never evident. The idea that I would never have that because of the color of my skin inspired me to plan an unrealistic future where my kids would be saved by the light. Warped right?

It is warped and sad that as a child I looked at the world around me and felt less worthy because I was a black girl in a white man’s world. What’s sadder is that it took seeing black people rise in the wake of George Floyd’s death and the misappropriation of their efforts by the opportunist group known as Antifa to force me to face my unfortunate truth. That truth is that until recently I have never loved the skin I’m in and my dreams, hopes, and plans have all been failures because of that. I have failed because, in an effort to put my best “white presenting” persona forward, I erased me.

Black Jane Doe

There is no evidence of my existence. I guess that’s what you get when you spend your whole life surviving. Life is for living. The plan was to achieve the greatness that would cancel out the honey almond color of my skin. Well, that plan tanked. 10 years and two degrees later, I’m just a Black Jane Doe existing among everyone else and weighed down by self-inflicted shackles of debt, insecurity, and stagnancy. So I guess the question is, how do I begin to redraw a soul that has been erased? This isn’t a situation where I'm getting my groove back. I will discover myself. I will commune with my inner child, and I will nurture a continuous and healthy love for the skin I’m in.

But what is the first step? What should I do? Do I get a new favorite color? Do I live in opposition to my fears and what I once deemed less than acceptable? None of those things is the answer. There isn't one singular answer, but my heart tells me to start with self-love. I have to look at the color of my skin and feel a sense of pride. I have to break the mental and emotional chains of self-loathing. I have to do this because I cannot join the ranks of my people and ask my country to accept me until I do.

Marathons & Apologies

The thing about loving and accepting yourself is that there is no formula for how to do it. Self-love is tailored to a person’s spirit and personality; I erased mine. So while I’m in the process of rebuilding myself, I also have to find a way to initiate self-love and acceptance. It only makes sense to start with loving my skin, after all, hating it is what got me here. The problem is I don’t know how to do that. How do you love skin? After a little reflection time, I realize loving my skin is going to be a marathon, I cannot expect to confront my Colorism, fall in love with my skin color, and fully accept myself all at once. I have to pace myself. I have opened up about my disdain for my skin color and called myself out on discriminating against my darker complexion out of fear. That’s a big milestone. I have begun confronting my issue and dealing with me; which is the best way to initiate self-love. Most importantly, I am owning the fact that I owe myself an apology. The world, as ugly and backward as it may be, didn’t brainwash me into hating my complexion. The world didn’t force me to make a plan to cancel out a huge part of my identity. I did that, I own that, and now I need to make amends with myself for buying into that fear and self -loathing; for taking the eraser the world put into my hand and using it when I should have thrown it away.

Living each day honestly and openly is the best apology that I can provide, but writing out my wrongs and speaking them aloud doesn’t hurt either. To little Tezlynn, I’m sorry I caved. I know we were young at the time, but I’m still sorry. You were so hopeful, intelligent, and brave and somewhere along the way that hope, bravery, and intelligence weren’t enough and the realities of life as a Black American broke you. I’m sorry that allowed it to break you. I’m sorry that our dreams of writing, litigating, counseling, and helping people became about survival instead of justice and passion. I’m sorry you got exploited, I’m sorry I exploited your gifts and your talents; that I gave them away. We had one job, you and I, and that was to be born, to live an extraordinary life, make our mark on this world in a way that would bring us peace on our death bed, and have no regrets. Thus far, in the last ten years of our life, I haven’t done that. For that, I am truly sorry.

No longer will I beat us down with plans and act as if I’m lifting us up. I won’t be insecure anymore. The truth of the matter is, we are the darker sister and our darker skin tone is not a curse. It’s a gift. It’s natural contouring. In the fall and winter, we are a ginger princess; the color of our momma with sprinkles of daddy in the mix. In the spring and summer, we are a melanin canvas; proof of our parent's love. Our skin is bright and dark in all the right places and I like it. No longer will I discriminate against our skin and throw shade-ism in our faces. I forgive myself for letting the presence of Colorism cloud my judgment. I forgive me for trading my dreams for practicality and false comforts. I accept what I have always known and that is that there isn’t only hope in the light; there is hope in the darkness. We are the darkness. There is hope in us, there is hope in me.