27 years

by Andrea Johnson

One of my greatest desires in life was to prove to myself and those around me that black women can be intelligent, successful, and beautiful just like anyone else. I had grown up hearing and believing that the color of my skin was wrong or bad. As a child, my mother would call me things like "Blackie" as a means not only to insult me but give me the notion that something was wrong with the color of my skin. I was always given backhanded compliments like "You're pretty for a black girl" or "you blah blah blah for a black girl". These statements played in the back of my head for years. Not only did I experience wrongful prejudice and discrimination from my white peers and teachers. I now felt what is now understood as colorism from my own people.

Fast forward to me sitting at the hair salon getting my hair pressed (that is a whole other topic) when I meet this beautiful black woman. She was the same color as me and she had on the brightest red lipstick I have EVA SEEN! I told her it was beautiful on her, but I could never wear a color like that.

She said, "Honey us black women can wear whatever we like, don’t let them lie to you".

Damn...

Let’s just say that the next morning I went to MAC and bought the brightest red lipstick that I could find.

YALL... I started rocking all the reds, purples, blues, you name it I wore it. It was like I was seeing the color of my skin for the first time in my whole life. It was like its own kind of fucking magical dripping gold! I was glowing with a newfound realization that I was beautiful in my skin.

It took me twenty-seven years to grab ahold of this truth. It took me twenty-seven years to embrace my elegant silky brown skin because since the beginning of time black women have been taught otherwise. For once I was ok to heal from the systematic bullshit that had me in a constant mode of survival and emotional suppression.

Today I am finishing my last semesters in grad school as a Mental Health Counselor. Not only have I learned about the deep effects of trauma and oppression; I have also discovered the power of vulnerability, transparency, and self-love. This newfound badassery changed my life, I no longer feel unworthy because of the color of my skin; I feel honored to be a black woman. We come in all kinds of shades from expresso to milk chocolate, caramel, hazelnut we are lustrous, delicate creatures created with an extraordinary paintbrush baby.

I wrote this as a means to hold space for all women who have been told what they are not. In using my voice, I wish to empower other women to share their experiences so we together can all embrace our badassery!