What Colorism Did to Me
By: Chelsea Brooks, 2nd Place Adult Essay Division
It wasn’t until college that I finally believed I was beautiful.
Growing up with a father who never parented me, who hardly ever spoke to me was enough to make me feel unloved, unwanted.
But to compound this feeling was my chocolate skin.
Except I didn’t describe it as chocolate back then.
I described it as dirty. And I even despised my father for it. I despised my father for making me this dark, unlovable girl. I needed someone to blame for my lack of beauty.
I felt dirty standing next to white people, next to light skinned black people.
Even today, I have to catch myself from constantly looking over my skin when surrounded by lighter skinned people, and remember that I am beautiful, that my skin is beautiful.
I’m not sure exactly when this all started for me, but I am pretty sure it was an intersection between racism and colorism that lead me to despise my skin.
Being told in the 6th grade that I would be so much prettier if I was lighter really hurt. It hurt even more being told that by a friend.
In 6th grade, I also had a boy ask me to be his girlfriend out of pity, then proceed to deny that I was his girlfriend to anyone that asked. He was biracial—black and Hispanic. He thought I wasn’t pretty because I was so dark.
In 8th grade I heard so many “You’re so black jokes” I can’t even keep count.
By high school, I just accepted that I couldn’t be pretty because I was so dark.
No matter how many family members, strangers, and family friends told me I was beautiful, that I had beautiful skin, I just couldn’t believe it.
I started mentoring in my senior year of high school. What I learned was that almost every black girl despised her skin color for one reason or another.
I believe that as a race, black people can tear each other down and be hurtful, spiteful and disrespectful. Part of these actions may come from learned behaviors of generations past, of slavery and the times after. It doesn’t just happen in the black community—it is just where I have noticed it the most. We all may assume that others think they are superior because of their skin color, but we are really all hurting inside for one reason or another.
Somewhere during my time in college, after many long stares in the mirror, many long nights of reflection, I realized that I am beautiful just the way I am, I learned to thank God for making me as I am. I push other girls and women to feel the same way about themselves. I emphasize to my mentees how beautiful they are in their own skin, explain what I went through. I pass women by in the mall, the grocery store, and try to tell them the same thing. I know it doesn’t just happen to dark-skinned black women. It happens to light skinned women, to Hispanic men and women, to Asian men and women, and all other ethnicities. It is a problem. But it is one I hope to solve by starting with myself.
I learned to love myself and my skin. I hope that reading my story and the stories of others will inspire someone else to do the same.
About the Author: Chelsea Brooks is a recent graduate from the Master of Social Work program at the University of Georgia. She currently works with foster children, reunifying families or finding children permanent and stable families. Writing and performing spoken word have been Chelsea’s passions since the tender age of 14. Through her writing, she hopes to inspire others and give voices to the people who go unheard.