Looking back at my experience as a black woman I am filled with a sense of pride. Not because I think I am better than anyone. Not because I think “our” struggle is more important than what another race has endured. And certainly not because I dislike other races. I will always appreciate what makes each of us different but I am filled with pride because there is beauty in my journey towards self-love. I didn’t grow up automatically loving my skin. Just as it grew and evolved my attitude towards it had to follow suit. And what an uncomfortable process that was. But here I am, stronger and full of love because I know the story of my people will live on. I’ll share my experiences, stories, and history with future generations with the hope that they never doubt their existence or abilities because of the color of their skin. And I’ll hope that they never diminish who they are out of fear or to make others feel comfortable. And even if they are met with hostility, I’ll pray that they shed light into the darkness through understanding and patience.
Here’s to another month filled with love (and history). Cheers.