Loving me

I’ve come a long way in this self love journey. I’ve loved to learn the things I can’t change. I can’t help that I’m only knee high to a grasshopper or that my ass doesn’t always fit in my jeans. I can’t help that my hair is short and outrageously curly no matter how I flatten it or put products in it it will never stay the way I want. I can’t help that my curves are more of a swollen coke bottle than an hourglass but I still embrace them even if it means wearing a shaper under my dress so my love handles don’t bulge and my dress doesn’t rise cause my ass isn’t flat. I can’t help that my breast aren’t small and all my bras are way too expensive yet they are small enough to still look perky when I decide to go braless. I’ll never have cute little b cups. I can’t wear a bralette or pasties my boobs say hell no to strapless anything and my shoulders are wide enough for me to be a middle linebacker in the NFL so those cute little halter tops and strapless dresses are thrown out too. I know that I have to be careful what I wear I can’t wear anything form fitting cause you can individually count my rolls and if you squint I’m sure you can see the pouches where my thighs meet. But guess what I’m still beautiful my laugh can feel up a room and I bet I can make almost anybody smile. For the longest I thought I should lose weight. I should work out more. I need to be thin. 230 pounds is too fat. Filling myself with this self hatred and the constant need to fit in and be what “society” deems beautiful. No more… I’m not gonna change myself to fit a mold. I don’t want to be like any one else. I don’t want to fit. I’m perfectly fine being the funsized out spoken one in the crowd. God gave me this tiny frame and this huge voice for a reason. Being overweight short and sometimes not always pretty because face it before puberty hit without the hair and make up some people thought I was a boy, I was afraid of attention. I hated singing in front of people when I love nothing more than singing. I hated being around a lot of people because I was the only one that looked like me. Growing up where I grew up in a predominately white town kids my age didn’t get it. I didn’t have people tell me it’s ok to be different. So what you’re black. So what you’re short. So what you’re a tomboy. No one could help me understand what it meant to be a young woman of color because they were all the same. I have had the blessing of never having to personally go through any form of racism thank god everyone I grew up made me feel as included as they could but I had to learn on my own what it meant to be black. How to do my hair how to do my make up to best fit my skin. How to dress according to my body type how to best take care of my personal hygiene. My grandma tough me what she could but what happened to the whole “it takes a village” my village consisted of two people and other than them everyone else let me down. I’ve come to love my unique character that I’ve built all on my own. I love every curve every unruly strand of hair. I love the fullness of my lips the wideness of my nose and the way my eyes appear to be spaced out way too far when I take my glasses off. My black is beautiful. My melanin glows. Even on my roughest days I find strength in knowing that it was a process to really start loving me.