Taboo Tuesdays: Learning to be Happy in Your Skin – Part I

MA Concerned Mom asked:

I have asked my friends and family a million times but nothing works maybe someone can give me something else to try? I have a daughter who is 5 she is half african american half white. She is a beautiful girl but she HATES her color (carmel). Ive tried explaining to her that she is beautiful and no matter what color she is she is beautiful. Ive tried explaining everything to her it dont work! My son is very pale color and she seems to be so jealous of him I even have a hard time getting her to go to her.dads house or family’s cause she dont want to be around “colored” people. Its like she resents them for her color! She often ask who God punished her and made her brown or if she can paint herself white. Please someone have tips? Im out of ideads..

Time to reflect:

“He wished he could be anywhere else and anyone else but Here and Him.”
― James R. SilvestriHawthorn Road

Years have passed.  Memories of being unhappy in my skin are never remembered.  Well almost never remembered, that’s until something provokes old thoughts of self-hate or someone expresses personal dislike about themselves.  Any-who-how . . .

When I was younger I remember vividly how I hated being black.  During this time one thing was for sure, I wanted my dad to be black and my mother to be white, but I didn’t want to be a whole of one certain race.  It was clear in my minds-eye that I wanted to be mulatto.  I didn’t want to change the color of my skin.  I was happy being brown.  But as I continue to return to my past memories I’m reminded it was my short nappy hair!

Taboo Tues Blog Photo
I’m 5 years old in this photo.

I hated my hair!  It was nappy!  It was short!  And it was scanty around my hairline!

People made fun of my hair and that included family members.

I was sad all the time.  I cried all the time.  People thought I was mentally unstable.  Unbeknown to them, I tried to be happy.  I wanted to be happy.  But there was no happiness for me because I was born with a social imperfection.  And despite my age, the people in the world and unkind family members continually let me know I was not perfect!

Painfully I hate to admit, my hair became the doorway for people to taunt me.  My hair became the doorway for me to cultivate and nurture the spirit of self-hate.

I was heckled at school and harassed at home!  I had nowhere to run nor to hide.  With much sorrow my hair or lack thereof was a constant reminder that people thought I was ugly.  Oh!  No one said it!  But their rude remarks about my temporary birth defect implied it!

As I reflect, I am now beginning to understand why I quickly [stressing quickly] remove people from my life that inflect pain upon me.  My defensive actions were a mystery to me and something I didn’t understand before now.  I’m amazed at my discovery about my unyielding spirit when it comes to keeping people at a distance once they hurt me.  Because most times I forgive people who hurt me immediately; but rarely do I allow them back in my life to cause me more grief.

Had I not stumbled upon the above petition from a mother that wanted to help her five-year old daughter I would not be dealing with past hurts. Dang!  I hate moments like this!  I . . . just wish the hurtful memories would return to the section of my mind I have made for them and stay put!

I’m coming to a close but I would like to ask a question, or two or maybe three.

If discussing birth-defects or genetic imperfections is taboo, then why the heck do people cruelly make fun of people who have them?  Is it because they also feel less accepted, therefore, they must pick on a person that is socially deemed imperfect to feel better?  Or are such people, just, downright mean-spirited?

 

When Love Transcend Social Boundaries

Artist:  Unknown
Artist: Unknown

Last Sunday I was pressed to write a prayer for my blog  “The Prayers of Black Women.”  I wasn’t sure of my spiritual request to God; but, I felt my prayer should have been about Black women.

[Please don’t stop reading.  God is working in my life on my misplaced and misguided thoughts, and you will read the transformation soon.]

Any-who-how, I was proud of my “I’m Black and I’m Proud” prayer.  Yet, I desired another persons opinion [preferably a black person].  So, I asked my son to come and proofread the prayer I had written.

Again, please don’t stop reading.  God is working in my life on my misplaced and misguided thoughts about what it truly means to be a Black woman; and believe me when I write, my transformation is coming soon.  Sooner than I expect!

Insight:

For the past couple of days my soul has been unease about the image I’m projecting as a woman of color.

In my personal life I have an array of friends from all walks of life.

With great remorse, I have notice when I write I come across as a person of color that do not like people from other race groups.  The image I’m projecting is totally the opposite of my character.  Totally!  And if you keep reading you will soon see God is getting ready to transform the way I have been thinking and writing lately.

Dialogue between me and my son:

Me:  Can you please proofread my prayer?

My Son:  Hum.  Hum.  Okay.  (My son does not like to get involved in my writing projects.  So I was shocked when he said he would help me.)

Me:  So what do you think?

My Son:  If I came across your blog I would not read it.

Me:  Why?  [I was shocked at his bluntness.]

My Son:  Because it doesn’t have anything that could help me.

Me:  Of course not!  It’s a blog for Black women!

My Son:  Isn’t this about prayer?

Me:  Yes.  But it is a prayer for Black women.

My Son:  Shouldn’t prayer be for everyone?

Me:  [Speechless.]

Lesson Learned:

As a former seminar student I recently realized several pitfalls of racism.

In 1 Corinthians 15:31, Paul writes, “For I swear, dear brothers and sisters, that I face death daily. This is as certain as my pride in what Christ Jesus our Lord has done in you.”

Though I am on a spiritual sabbatical, I am an ambassador for Christ; therefore, my color, race, culture, and personal beliefs outside of Christianity should die daily.  But as it was, after finding myself upset with narrow-minded people I began a blog for Black women despite the need to encourage everyone.

Please understand, I am not a racist, my heart grieves for my race.  With such sorrow I find myself disappointed with a group of people who keep allowing themselves to fall prey to the cruelties of society.  My mind can’t grasp why these beautiful men and women continue to be mentally and emotionally castrated.   It is painful to belong to a race and sit idle as it implode.  Hosea 4:6 says, “My people perish for the lack of knowledge.

And because I don’t want my people to perish, sadly, my gender and my race became my cause to write.  When in my case it should have been man’s inhumanity to man who made me want to make a difference by putting into action “the pen is mightier than the sword.”  Because at the end of the day when all has been said and done we are still humans in need of love despite, race, color, culture, personal beliefs, personal choices, professional choices, religious choices, age and gender.

Until humankind understand that life without love and acceptance is all for not.  We will continue to overlook the most important thing to remember about living:  and that is when love transcend social boundaries it makes people do the right thing.  In 1 Corinthians 13:2-7 Paul writes the below about love:

If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.