Dark Girl

I just watched a preview of a documentary called “Dark Girls.” It was sad, moving, uplifting, and crushing all at the same time. I, as you can see by my pictures, am a dark-skin black girl. My mother has lighter skin with medium brown eyes; my maternal grandfather was a lighter man. My brother and sister are medium skin. As a family, I felt like the odd man out. As a child the reality of being dark-skin and the circling question of why I didn’t have lighter skin were very overwhelming. In the clip they talk about the racism that dark girls deal with within our own race. Within your race group, one would think that one would feel support, freedom to be oneself, and acceptance. But it was from my own race that I received the most criticism. I wasn’t worthy. A compliment was as paired with “for a dark-skin girl.” Growing up I didn’t hear too often that I was beautiful or gorgeous. They would tell my sister, who has lighter skin, that she was beautiful. Because this sort of affirmation was pretty much non-existent, my mind was trained to believe that light was beautiful and dark is pretty but….

During my teen years my self esteem and self value were pretty low. I didn’t see myself as a pretty girl. My maternal grandfather would say things like “Mel has the body, but Helena (my sister) has the face.” I knew he meant well, but those words were still hurtful. They still made me feel ashamed that I was who I was, and there was nothing that I couldn’t do about it. It was more acceptable to be a black curvy woman, than it was to be a “black” woman. I did go to some extremes. I had bad acne when I was a teen. Once my skin cleared up I had many acne scars on my face. I purchased fade cream to take the blemishes away, but I would also put a little extra on in hopes that the cream would lighten my skin. I wanted to feel accepted. I wanted to feel beautiful. Needles to say, the cream didn’t take away my dark skin. It barely took away my blemishes. When I was in 8^th grade I joined Works of Deliverance Fellowship International Ministries. And I am grateful to God that I did. Every so often my pastor would walk up to me and say “Mel, you have beautiful skin, and I love your color.” I didn’t know how to receive the compliments. It was weird. Sometimes I would wonder if she was talking to me. I would look around the room to make sure that it was me that she was addressing. For 3 years she gently encouraged me. During that time I had to encourage myself, and tell myself that I am beautiful. I am gorgeous. I used to pick and choose what was pretty about me. My teeth were pretty; my eyes are pretty. I like my hair. But I couldn’t say or see that I, the entire me, was pretty.

Coming to accept who I am took a long time. This blog is sort of like a plea to parents, leaders, and people who have opportunities to speak into young people’s lives. Don’t teach them to compare themselves to others. Teach them that who they are is beyond good enough. It’s extraordinary.