Growing up I hated the colour of my skin. I wanted to be lighter, the same complexion as my dad. I thought maybe then he would accept me. I remember times when he would say to me that I wasn’t his child because I was so dark and my brother was light. What he said hurt so much I begged my mum not to let me go to see him anymore. He didn’t really care that I wasn’t coming to see him.
I thought I was being punished by God for being this complexion, I thought I was cursed.I had so many issues with my complexion that I wouldn’t look in the mirror. I hated the mere site of me. I spent hours researching how to change my complexion.
I was so close to changing it. When I finally realised that no matter what I did, this man was never going to accept me, for me. It took me 28 years to finally look in a mirror and Accepted me for me. Accepted that being black wasn’t a sin or a curse. I wrote a book to my younger self Called ‘Dear little Nubian Queen’ it was things that I wanted to tell myself that I couldn’t.
I had to decide for myself that the skin I was born in was perfect for me. I learnt to stop caring so much about people’s perception.
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