I wore makeup yesterday, a little foundation, eye shadow, eyeliner, and lip gloss. Nothing spectacular, I didn’t go nuts, but it is a big deal to me. I am sure you wondering why, people wear make up all the time, for me it goes deeper.
I have never felt pretty, in any sense of the word. My beauty has always been wrapped up in how the world sees me. For as long as I can remember I wanted people to see past my rolls, my fat stomach and thick legs and see my real beauty. I have asked to much of people and I have let the outside world determine my self worth..that is a dangerous thing. When I was a girl, maybe 11 or 12, I wanted to be pretty like the other girls in my class. Now I had some things that were praised by black folks as far as beauty goes, I had long hair (not quite long enough to me) smooth light skin, and large brown eyes. I would stare in the mirror and try to figure out if I was pretty, and I would ask my mother did she think I was, her only reply would be..”you look like you”.
But what did “me” look like? Was that a good thing? Because I was bullied and laughed at constantly about my weight I never felt it, and when people told me I was, I never believed them. Some how around 12 or 13 my beauty became synonymous with how small I was, and I could never be small enough. I was a latch-key kid so when I got home from school I ate and ate and ate, and ate some more. I didn’t have money then so eating fast food was out of the question, but sweets were around and I ate them. By the time I graduated from high school I was a big girl, no bigger then some of the other young women around me, but the seeds of hate and self doubt were planted and there was no convincing me otherwise that I was anything other then a big, fat ugly thing.
I masked my self hate with nice clothes, oh I was, and still am, a snazzy dresser. My hair stayed done, chemically straightened and fried to perfection. My speech was as white as I could make it, and I read books to appear smart..all the time. Still, I wasn’t pretty..no boys came calling for me..oh there were one or two but in all honesty, they were not worth my time..(I may have felt ugly, but I am a BAP after all and just any negro will not do) There was one boy in 10th grade, Cornelius..he wanted to date me, and another big girl named Natasha, and another one named Betty. I never considered him my boyfriend, we were just “Talking” he kissed me once, that was nice, real nice. I didn’t realize his game until the 10th grade dance and he was with me and the two other girls. Soooooo that didn’t work out, I heard he got Betty pregnant..Then my senior year there was another boy who liked me, but he wouldn’t take me to prom..so screw that. That’s it…that is my love life..and in the meantime I am getting fatter and fatter, uglier and uglier by the day.
After college, I had ballooned to my heaviest and I am still floating around that size now, but 20 years later, 4 jobs, and turning 43..I have come to accept myself. Now, don’t get it twisted..I still feel fat, ugly, gross, disgusting, and hairy, but I try. Right outfit (Thank you so much plus size fashion bloggers!)and hair in a perfect twist-out, you cannot tell me nothing.
Yesterday, that is how I felt…Beautiful