Learning To Love The Potters Clay
My formative years were grounded by a strong belief. A knowing that I was a created being. I sang songs about a creator that masterfully knit me and designed my inner most parts with the highest degree of loving precision and intentional masterful care. Along with this biblical foundation of truth I also grew up in a loving nurturing home where the confidence was contagious. After shopping trips my home full of girls would disperse into our rooms eagerly searching through the bags of brand new clothes. We would slip into the up to the minute trendy garments, style our pieces to perfection and strut down halls of our home as if we were top models on a runway. The roaring applause of our adoring fans(my father and mother) reiterated the continuous affirmation of our worth I had become accustomed to. Back and forth we would sway our hips side to side as we strut throughout our makeshift runway.We were celebrated in the glorious skin our creator uniquely designed for us. In my Haitian family curves were celebrated. Skinny was not the thing to be, wide hips and a small waist was a sign of a blessing from the almighty God himself. So imagine my confusion between the values of the home I grew up in and the stark contrast of the suburban city that we called home. Boldly celebrating my body in all of its varying forms has been a pilgrimage. One marked by grace and grit. I do not necessarily subscribe to the thought of self love being an arrival place as much as ones life work. When I see the freedom my daughter posses in her skin I am grateful for every ounce of work I poured into the gift that is loving me.
Becky, Jessica, and Brittany were all present in my classrooms growing up. I was surrounded by blonde ponytails and an array of light hued eyes. My deep dark brown skin was a rarity. I do not know when the awareness began. I simply remember living in the reality that my little curves at the time were not the ideal standards of beauty. I went through school with these subtle lies slowly making their way to the the core of my identity. I did not even know it was happening. I just accepted what was beautiful was slender and lean. From my TV screen to every popular magazine the lie was confirmed again and again. I carried this with me for some time. I started to have breakthrough however as a young adult. A moment stands out like a dream sequence in my mind. Unfortunately this moment was no dream. I worked at Bloomingdales during college. I loved it. I still remember shifting through the new line of DVF dresses the day they were merchandised on the retail selling floor. All the beautiful colors and ornate prints were tickling my every fashion sense. I pulled one particular dress in a size 4. Perfect I thought to myself, just my size. Lets call my dear coworker Karen for the purpose of this story today. For some reason I can not explain Karen felt the need to share her two cents. “Ooooh, you don’t want that dress” umm what…. I literally had Karen repeat herself to just make sure the foolishness I thought I was hearing was what I was actually hearing. “That dress is for my body type,” she bravely expressed. You know that type of dress shows EVERYTHING you don’t want to show ALLLL of that” What Karen did not know was that I came into a bit of an evolution during my college years. I came into relationship with so many black guys and girls who reminded me of the truths my parents laid down as a strong foundation. I met girls who praised their thighs and butts and all the glorious curves of their bodies. College years tend to be a coming into your own, a time of agency and self discovery. I stood taller, more proud and more confident of the skin I am in. Through relationship, knowledge and day to day living truth over the lies I traveled further along the path of self embrace.
Joining community of people who looked like me at a perfect time of coming to age most certainly was a pivotal point in my pilgrimage of loving me. Like most females my body has fluctuated over the years. From childbearing and everything in between the scale has danced from time to time. I continue to work on my physical appearance daily. I do have an ideal weight and size. I however choose to love myself regardless of the size. I recognize my blackness informs my shape and size and I am good with that. So just like in the Sir Mix A Lot song Becky can continue to marvel at the size of my butt, and I am okay with that. I did not know it at the time but my work. The work I have fought through to celebrate not just tolerate my body is the framework for my little girls identity. I am so glad that when my little girl looks at me she gets to see a mom that is not complacent where she is but still marvels and dances in the body that an all might creator blessed her to abide in.
