Welcome to Werking Mom, my new monthly column for paid subscribers! This space will explore the reality of juggling personal well-being, professional pursuits and raising a tiny human in today’s frantic world. Issues will be delivered every fourth Sunday of the month. Thank you for being here and I hope you enjoy this month’s column!
Whenever people compliment my daughter on her looks, it makes me feel slightly uneasy. Ever the feminist, I don’t want her contributions to the world to be boiled down to her looks. On the one hand, she’s young enough to not really understand what’s happening. But on the other hand, she is a Black girl and, historically, Black girls have not been praised for their looks.
It’s something I’ve grappled with since the moment she came out of the womb and the doctor announced, “it’s a girl!” (right as Beyoncé’s “Brown Skin Girl” was playing…and no, it was not planned because we didn’t find out the sex beforehand. After several rounds of IVF, we wanted to keep something a surprise). How do I, a Black woman who only recently learned to embrace her 4C coils, Fenty 420 skin and curvaceous body, raise a Black daughter to appreciate those same features?
Shortly after Violet was born, I purchased two sets of card decks featuring affirmations for Black children—one for her and one for my nephew. Only recently did I remember where I packed them and brought them out to show her.
We’d just started a ritual of saying affirmations in the mirror: “I am smart. I am kind. I am beautiful.” I want her to know her worth does not lie in her looks and I also believe it’s important to instill in her that Black is beautiful. That she is beautiful. Because there will be so many people, places and things spending a lifetime telling her the opposite.
It took me 30 years to feel comfortable and confident in my body. I don’t wish the same for my daughter. As I mentioned in last month’s column, I spent most of middle and high school praying to God to be white. I literally hated the skin I was in. I wanted to be pretty like Britney Spears. I don't want Violet—or any Black girl, for that matter—to ever feel that way.
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