I didn’t grow up a black woman; I grew up an anomaly.

I didn’t grow up as someone beautiful; I grew up something different.

I didn’t grow up as another person’s ideal; I grew up as another person’s experiment.

There’s a difference between being attractive and being interesting.  Personally, I find attractive better.  Curiosity is great but it’s temporary and as soon as that itch is scratched, the interest is gone.  But that whole deal about attraction, um yea… the attraction to one person may go away but to a whole group? No, that’s straight up engrained; it’s not going anywhere.

My point is, as much flack as the modern-day black woman gets for being mad and aggressive, there is something uniquely beautiful about us.  Yes, there is a beauty in every race, but they are running a whole different race.  Our beauty isn’t comparable. You know, apples to oranges and all that jazz.

There’s some kind of epidemic going around where everyone has to look at someone else for confirmation of what’s good, bad, attractive, blah, blah, blah.  WHY!?  I guess I got lucky in some way.  Not growing up in an environment full of people who look like me didn’t give me the chance to get drawn into the whole, “Am I as pretty as her?” BS. I couldn’t compare myself to the Hers of my childhood because there was no starting point.

It’s nice to be told I’m beautiful, but whether you tell me the truth or not doesn’t change the validity of it (by the way, big shout out to my parents for making it clear that I am).  I AM beautiful (thank you for noticing) and so are you (you’re welcome) and I’m not talking about that cheesy stuff.  Sweetheart, you are the most magnificent you there ever was and ever will be.  NO one is ever going to be able to tell you that enough to make you see it yourself.

There’s something in us that you can’t find anywhere else.  Yes, when we’re mad, you know it, but when we’re happy and satisfied you know it too.  Aggressive? Yes, but doesn’t that usually come with being driven and headstrong?  And really, are those SUCH horrible qualities? I mean really, happy and passive… BORING!

Maybe it’s because I’ve had my fair share of looking from the outside in, but there’s nothing like being a woman, and a black one at that.  Magazines, music videos, studies, images, etc. I don’t care what they say, show, report, or portray, we are some of the most beautiful creatures to ever walk the face of this earth.  Once again, this is not a comparison; this is an observation.

Are we admired? Always.  Appreciated? Sometimes. Disrespected? Usually. Bad part is I’m not talking about the way other people treat us. The whole self-love thing is a big deal guys! Everyone is trying to get someone to prove to them how to appealing they are.  Noooo, you tell (through attitude and action) them how appealing you are. Get your Beyoncé on!

I’m just starting to understand how lucky I am to be a black woman and there’s no way I’m going to start feeling bad about it.  I’ve already spent 21 years without that connection, that freedom, that confidence.  Maybe it’s because that feeling has been stripped away from many black women of today, whether by choice or by force.  Is that why I see more people viewing it as a handicap rather than a blessing?  I really don’t know, but I’m about to rock this to the end. God gave me this skin color, this body shape, these ancestors with this history. It wasn’t a curse!

Anyway, I just felt the urge to show you some love since (apparently) we don’t get it.  I don’t agree with that buuut… that’s just me. So to you this is either a boost of confidence, a reminder, or me bragging… either one is good to me.  I used to wonder why I’d acquired such a fascination with African-Americans, but it’s clear to me now that I’m not obsessed with us, I’ve just fallen in love.

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