I’ll be honest, I don’t recall ever truly feeling I was Beautiful until I was in middle school. Before that night, which I remember quite vividly, I never confidently acknowledged my dark skin. I hid from it until the sixth grade, then I dealt with it until some point in middle school and now, I continue to find Confidence and Beauty in it. Growing up no one emphasized the importance of having Pride in being Black, the Power in Womanhood was rarely emphasized and I was NEVER reassured that it was okay to be dark skinned. And why should anyone have? I lived with my mother until I was fourteen and all but maybe five of my family members on her side were light skinned. Some of the women that I considered to be dark skinned and admired them for their confidence turned out to identify themselves as brown skinned. This turned me off. I was not an in between shade. I was not on the lighter side of dark. I had nowhere to run. So although my loved ones sometimes told me I was Beautiful, I don’t think I believed it until middle school. (I’ll mention that I needed the reassurance that it was more than okay for me to be dark skinned because I received a lot of ridicule and harassment from peers growing up because of my skin color.) On this night, probably in the eighth grade, I was taking sassy little selfies in the mirror with my mother’s digital camera. I had a relaxer, hair styled in a bob with a swoop bang, Blistex on my full lips, Beauty Supply pearl earrings and a pair of Stunna Shades on. (Not much, right?) My task was to take a picture I’d be proud to post as a representation of myself on MySpace. After a few successful shots I told myself I was “cute” in a matter of fact way. I thought I was Beautiful but I wouldn’t dare say it out loud because 1) I thought it was arrogant and 2) I knew not everyone else thought so and THIS still mattered to me and some sometimes, quite unfortunately, these doubtful feelings try to creep up on me.

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