To Be or Not to Be Me…
To be or not to be me? That is the question; self-doubt pulled up a chair and made itself at home in my life during sixth grade. Sporting sweatsuits, jersey dresses, and sneakers most days, I was in the crosshairs of a few classmates and loyal customers of Babyphat. The hairs on their heads, relaxed and flat-ironed, while mine defied gravity with twist-outs and Bantu knots, unknowingly making my egun proud. I was quiet, played basketball, got recognition for my academic achievements, and had occasional acne; apparently, I was a perfect candidate for the Ridiculed Every Day Award.
In a year’s long hail of verbal gunfire, I developed amnesia and lost my sense of self. All there was to know was that my peers were right about me, so I thought; I was an ugly, awkward, weird nerd with nappy hair, and I didn't care to fight back a lot because it hurt too much, and the internal bleeding left me critical in thinking and condition. When I wasn’t avoiding mirrors or contemplating suicide, I wondered what it was like to be somebody else...anybody else; a natural daydreamer, I envisioned being in the shoes of notable people that inspired me.
For a time, I felt better but knew this wasn’t a remedy, although it seemed to be the only way to happiness. The further I ventured in my imagination, the longer I remained at square one in reality. But deep down, I knew I was anything but square, and that average is my antithesis; there was much burning inside me that had to come out, yet I continued suppressing myself out of fear of rejection. Then I had an epiphany: to be someone else is not to be yourself; it sounds so simple, right?
But at the time, it was complex for me, and it took years of self-suffocation to realize I was the only one hurting because I adamantly denied myself the right to be who I had been all along. I am different from, not better than, everybody else, and I love it! I must admit that a few things my peers said in those days were correct: I am nerdy, an anomaly among Black people, proudly atypical, and only awkward in awkward situations. Sixth grade was certainly an awkward situation, but in the years that followed, I flourished with the faithful and made allies who were also eccentric and off the wall.
These days, I’m mostly flying solo because of life and propinquities, which have my dear friends and me in different seasons and paths; I will always love and support those with whom I grew closest but refuse to count the days between conversations and meet-ups. Instead, I practice self-care with prayer, meditation, reading, writing, and all other fun, healing, and creative pursuits in which I partake that don’t necessarily require the company of others. Although companionship is a necessity, I do not regret the time spent alone; it was there when I realized that everything I wanted to be was already inside of me, awaiting the moment I reached discovery.
Denying oneself is a slap in the face of our Creator because, in essence, we are telling Him that He made a mistake in our forming when really, our self-perceptions are amiss. No one can tell us what we are when we see ourselves the way we are supposed to, which is how God intended.
To be or not to be me?
Without question!
