500 Years of Pain

I didn't read the article.  I wanted to, but I couldn't.  Because I didn't need to read any more words that would tear at my spirit, rip at my soul.

In case you haven't heard, this past Monday, some man, a blogger for the well-respected mental health magazine Psychology Today, posted a controversial "study."  In his "study" he concluded that of all races, black women were found to be the least attractive.

Less desirable.

Unwanted.

Of little-to-no value.

Last weekend I read "Women, Food and God" by Geneen Roth.  I read her story and the stories she shared of other women's discoveries about the roots of their dysfunctional relationships with food.  As I read, I was gently reminded that it's not about the food.  It never is.  It's never about the alcohol.  It's never about the drugs.  It's about the pain.  It's about the mom, dad, grandma, aunt, culture and its values who whispered (or screamed) into your ears,

"You are not good enough.  You will never be good enough."

I heard those whispers and screams.  I struggled to understand why I couldn't make friends, have a boyfriend, receive decent customer service.  The only difference I could see between me and them (the other young girls and women) was the color of my skin and the texture of my hair.  Then I began to believe that I was simply. not. good. enough.

What a terrible way to live (if you can call it living): hating yourself so much that you slowly murder your very essence of being.  In elementary school I would steal my mother's skin bleaching cream to make my face just a little lighter.  In middle school I coveted my brother's toasted almond skin, ashamed of my deep cocoa.  In high school I drank some chemicals, took a bunch of Tylenol PM and tried to kill myself because I wasn't perfect enough.  In college I binged and purged, violated my body, and killed my dreams.

Oh, yes.  I heard those lies loud and clear. 

And what hurts the most today--what digs deepest into my heart--is hearing that evil, evil lie again just as I was beginning to forget it.

Yet as deeply as it hurts, it's also a reminder to myself--and to you--that true beauty lies within. Beauty is not based on the color of your skin, the texture of your hair, the shape of your eyes, the narrowness of your nose, the size of your hips or the roundness of your breasts.

Beauty, true beauty, is about what you give to the world: your love.

I am finally learning to love myself.  And I love you for loving me.