Maya and Me

The world has just begun to recognize and give credit to Black women for the beauty and power we possess. But Black women are still oppressed and ignored more than they’re praised. I grew up being taught that my natural hair was nappy, so a flat iron on my hair became habitual. I was taught that my curves, my skin, the very things that make me distinct and beautiful are unattractive. Men only want the skinny white girls with the big boobs and booty is what I was told. It’s what I believed.

I began to wonder why God didn’t make me like them. Why am I seen as earth’s atrocity? Why was I born to be unloved? Those questions constantly swarmed my thoughts, until my eyes were opened by a truly phenomenal woman who showed me my true beauty: Maya Angelou. Her seemingly simple poems showed me the beauty and power that us Black women possess. The same beauty that the world tries to convince me and other Black females we don’t have.

My parents separated when I was around four. My brother and I ended up staying with our father, who provided for us and tried to give us a comfortable life. The only problem was that I was now the only girl. Even though my father had nothing overtly against Black women, I don’t believe he was aware of my “I’m not pretty like the other girls because I’m Black” phase. At least he did better than my mom, because even though she’s here now, she wasn’t here when I needed her most. She told me I was beautiful, but I only heard those words from her every once in a while, and that simply wasn’t enough.

The summer before seventh grade, I began to read Maya Angelou. Her poems helped me resolve the constant resentment, hatred, and confusion I felt towards myself, my skin, and my body. My favorite is the classic poem “Phenomenal Woman” because it showcases the powerful essence of Black women. It voices a level of confidence and joy all Black women should have about their bodies.
The lines ”I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size, But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies” helped me to grow to embrace my thickness. My favorite line, ”Pretty women wonder where my secret lies,” makes me remember that I’m different and that’s okay, because who wants to be like everyone else? NOT ME!

I was taught that in order to be loved and wanted, I had to be skinny, because skinny is beautiful and there is no other way around it. I haven’t been skinny for a long time, so where does that leave me? I didn’t know. Because I was also taught that every shape and size is beautiful by my fellow peers. I didn’t know which side to listen to. Maya Angelou’s poem showed me that I didn’t have to be skinny to be beautiful. There’s beauty in my curves, the marks on my body, in my so-called “obesity.” There’s beauty in my chocolate skin, thick thighs, curly hair, and big breasts.

Now, let’s be clear. Even though this was a teachable moment of self-love, I didn’t wake up the next morning saying, “I’m Black and I’m beautiful!” The transition from insecure to 100% confidence didn’t happen overnight. It’s a journey, and even now, I’m still going. I started with baby steps, small things that brought out my natural beauty bit by bit. I stopped flat ironing my hair and let my curls grow out, I don’t wear baggy clothes to hide my body anymore, and I stopped wearing pounds of makeup that I honestly didn’t need. I just keep it light and simple.

Angelou’s inspirational poems didn’t stop there for me. I love “Still I Rise,” especially these parts:

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
….
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

“But then there are people like Maya Angelou who inspire you to be and love yourself, despite all the negativity the world has thrown at you.”

I can tie these words to every aspect of my life. My life of being Black, plus-sized, and—my personal favorite—female. The hatred against Angelou is also shown towards me for being these three things. When she mentions history, I think of the hundreds of generations before me who were seen as empty-headed and insignificant. How we were hated for the color of our skin, even though our people built this country on their bare backs. I wonder when America will realize that us Black folks play a more important role then they realize, but then again, that would require us realizing our worth, too, and banding together. All the years of abhorrence are rooted deep and have corrupted our people, tricked them into actually believing that we’re the problem. Tricked me into thinking that we’re not beautiful enough. The line “With your bitter, twisted lies” reminds me of how Black women are all painted as dumb and tainted with evil because of our melanin.

Our culture and presence are poisoned with lies. “Still I Rise” taught me more about my beauty and background in a few months than my 14 years of school. Goes to show you that some things can only be learned through life experiences. The rest of the poem sounds like a fight song urging us to ignore the vigorous hatred shown to us—to prove these rumors and nasty lies wrong, to show them how strong we are, to continue to keep rising despite how often we were beaten down.

I’m 18 now and I’ve learned that we Black women have so much beauty and power, and everyone knows it. I’ve learned that the world is threatened by our power, so they suppress us, make us think we’re not wanted, pressure us to believe that we’re not worth it. I’ve also learned that you should be yourself no matter what. Beauty is not just in your body—it’s all in how you carry yourself, the way you treat others, it’s your spirit, your personality. I’ve seen so much of the world’s ugliness and its beauty, and no, I haven’t figured everything out, but I’m farther than I was a few years ago.

Even if you do meet America’s standards, they still will find a reason to tear you down. But then there are people like Maya Angelou who inspire you to be and love yourself, despite all the negativity the world has thrown at you. It’s because of people like Angelou that I’m on my journey of self-love and devotion, and yes, there’ve been a lot of bumps. I still dwell on the flaws of my body and compare myself to thinner women thinking, If I look like her, will I find love? But that’s the hardest part of the journey: being confident.

The self-doubt and insecurities are always going to be in the back of your mind, but you can’t let them control you. When I fall back into my harmful habits, I remember these things: My skin has a glow that others dream of, my body isn’t meant to be like everyone else’s, I am supposed to be different, because being common gets you nowhere. I remember my culture and that nothing is wrong with the way I am.

I wrote this essay to share my story and inspiration. I used to think that I was the only Black girl going through this. I thought I was alone. I was wrong, because generations of Black girls—and girls in general—go through the phase of self-doubt. At some point in our lives, we all wonder, What’s wrong with me? Because we don’t look like the skinny models on the cover of magazines or because America is constantly bad-mouthing our race or religion. They only praise the women with the big butts and chest, so we do everything possible to become that and please the people who try to make us forget our power and worth.

In this essay I hope you realize you’re not alone. We are all on a journey to find our true, happy selves. But that can only happen once you accept yourself the way you are, appreciate where you come from, and ignore the world’s negativity. Maya Angelou’s words of truth and confidence were my inspiration. I hope your inspiration was my story. May it inspire you to be who you are without second-guessing.