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?

 

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