You can say I’ve lived two lives, one where I wished I was White and one where I wished I was more Black. That may seem confusing but trust me, it’s not! I am Black and proud to be Black. But the road to acceptance of my Blackness was difficult and at times it felt like an uppercut to the jaw.
I was around ten years old when I realized my skin color told a different story to other people. My mom picked my brother and me up from school. It was a rough day, my classmates called me “burnt bacon,” they told me I would turn into ash if I stayed out in the sun much longer. They didn’t know that I spent all summer in swim practice and traveling to swim meets (and did very well may I add!).
When my mom pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t tell you what she was talking about because I kept staring at my skin the whole ride home. When we got home, I had to get ready for swim practice. So I packed my swim bag, put on my bathing suit, and stopped in front of the mirror in my room as I was leaving, I couldn’t help but stare back at the person I saw. I questioned how I could get so dark? Was I not pretty enough to be dark? Maybe I should try being lighter.
Swim practice was my happy place; it’s where I felt like myself. My swim team was like family, they complimented me on my talents and efforts in practice, and they never mentioned my skin color, which was interesting because I was the only person of color on the team. No one looked like me, and I would always be noticed; I felt special.
When I spoke with my teammates, their lives were different from mine. They would talk about how many friends they had at school and how people complimented them on their clothes and their new hairstyles, and of course, the girls would talk about their crushes and how they would flip their hair to show their crushes they liked them.
I couldn’t do that. I thought, “I don’t have long silky hair, I don’t have light eyes, and I am too dark for someone to find me pretty.”
That’s when it hit me. That was the moment I wished I was white. Why couldn’t I be? I spoke like them, we shared the same interests, and they liked me. Their lives just seemed effortless. I was sure they were never made fun of about the color of their skin, they always looked and felt beautiful, and I wanted to feel that way too.
Of course, that was just me dreaming. I knew I couldn’t change the way I looked, I spoke to my mom about how I felt, and she told me that my Black was beautiful and I should not think otherwise. I believed her. Being around family always made me feel better… Well, sometimes.
It was a hot Saturday afternoon, I was 12 years old, and all of my cousins were down the street at my grandmother’s house. We played out in the front yard; they’re all Caribbean. I was one of the few cousins whose father married an American woman, making our upbringing different. I didn’t go to the neighborhood elementary and middle schools as they did. My mom homeschooled me for the first year to get me ahead. When I was ready to attend school, I was enrolled in a Spanish IB program, where I studied Spanish for eight years. I learned to read, write and speak in Spanish, not to mention I was also a swimmer. All my cousins played land sports and didn’t consider swimming a real sport.
The moment I wished I were more Black was when I finished playing tag with all my cousins, and we all sat in the front yard talking about different activities we liked to do in school. I could not understand what they were saying for the most part because most of them had an island accent, and they also spoke in slang. My mom was very adamant about pronunciation, vernacular, and speaking in clear diction. When it was my turn to share, I could only get a few sentences out before one of my cousins asked me why I was talking “like that.” I could not understand why they asked me because I was speaking clearly, and I started to question whether I was making sense or not.
They started to giggle, and my other cousin said, “Yea, you sound White. You know you’re not White, right?” I could not form the words to respond because I didn’t know what to say. I knew what color I was, but I could not understand why the way I spoke made them question if I was aware I was not White. I tried to play it off as a joke to show them they didn’t get to me. At first, it didn’t, but when your aunts and uncles start calling you White girl and an oreo, telling me my whole life I need to learn how to be more like “my people,” you begin to develop an identity crisis. I did not know who I was. All I ever wanted was to be me.
I lived most of my life being a chameleon. Ultimately, I needed to alter parts of me, to feel part of their world, even if just for a moment. I played the role of a White girl at school, which was easy because of my speech. I swam, which most people consider a white sport, and I listened to Radio Disney. Although it was great initially, I was an enigma, and it set me aside from everyone else. The issue with becoming an enigma is that no one sees you for more than what they want to see. So I became the person people expected me to be.
When I was around my family, I tried very hard to be accepted. I started listening to the same music they listened to, going out to the same places they hung out, even if it made me uncomfortable. I remember attending one of my cousin’s Sweet 16 parties’. I rode with my aunt and uncle to the event. We had a great time laughing, dancing and eating. It was a fun night; what made it even better was having fun with my family. The party was coming to an end, and we were all getting ready to leave. My uncle asked me to go to the table and pick up a few “Nah-laters.” I looked at him with a confused expression, so he repeated exactly what he said, the same dialect and the same letters. To me, it was a foreign language, but being who I am, I was determined to find the “Nah-laters.” After searching the table, all I could find were candies named “Now and Later,” so I grabbed a few and walked back over to him. I told him, “I couldn’t find Nah-laters, but I found this candy called “Now and Later.” Everyone around us erupted in laughter. I was confused. When the laughing subsided, my uncle told me that I was truly a “White girl” because I did not recognize that the candy he was pronouncing was the candy sitting in my hand.
I spent most of my life being two people at once, appeasing others’ views of me and not noticing the mental toll it was taking. I spent many nights crying myself to sleep because no matter how much effort I put into being two different people, I still did not belong. My whole life, all I ever wanted was to be seen. The problem was I spent most of my younger years being two people; I didn’t even know who I was.
Attending Florida A&M University was the best decision I have ever made. From freshman year to walking across the stage at graduation, I discovered who I was at the Highest of Seven Hills; I truly began to develop into the person I am today. Attending FAMU, I learned about my Black heritage and my history. Being around other Black women who have ventured down the same road of acceptance was a weight lifted off my shoulders. I was not alone in this fight, and I finally found a place where I belonged.
After graduating college, my biggest fear was working for a company that wanted me to be someone I was not, based on my skin color. Being seen as a professional based on my skills and knowledge was important. In the eyes of my employer, I wanted to add worth to the company. There is true bliss when I say that The M Network recognized my value. Finally, working for an agency that views me as a professional and values my opinions, listens and understands my perspective regarding Black culture, and asks questions when they are uncertain regarding topics of race and ethnicity in the Black and Caribbean community is euphoric.
For the second time in my life, I have found where I belong. I no longer seek to be accepted by any group of people. I no longer need validation from others to tell me who I am. I know my worth; I know my character and capabilities. I am confident, independent, loving, caring, and a protector, a woman, Black, and most importantly, I am me.