*Trigger Warning: mentions of SI
This is my little "about me" post, testing the whole "babies first blog" waters if you will. My whole vibe here is sitting across a coffee table at 5am, deeping who I am as a person and what makes me, me. It's a little strange, because who blogs nowadays anyway right? It's more so a little hobby that I picked up, an outlet for all the passionate feelings I have regarding societal relations and its makeup. With racial tensions among us, I felt now was a good time to release those feelings in a healthy way, and start something beneficial for both myself, and whoever may come across this. I wanted to start with my little story just to set the tone as to why I care about people feeling seen and how that concept transcends to a massive scale like societal and political injustice, and how this page has come to life as a result of that.
Let's start.
For about 7 years, I resided in Newark, New Jersey. My parents were born in Sierra Leone, a small country on the coast of West Africa, met in the United States, fell in love, and started a beautiful, blessed life together. I lived in a small townhouse appropriate for my small family, went to a charter school and excelled there. The thing about West Africans is that you don't have a choice when it comes to school. Education is a gift! And by fire or by force, you're going to excel at it. But my parents just wanted me to try my hardest. My father always told me that he "values the man that worked towards his goal versus the man naturally inclined to succeed". And I love how much they poured into me as a child when I lived there. As a result, I was even able to skip a grade!
My childhood life was so special and sweet. It's funny because when I tell you that it was popular to be smart...I'm really not lying to you. I was winning spelling bees, in all the school plays, getting straight A's..you couldn't tell little me anything! Kids are so secure in themselves, it's the sweetest thing to witness and to have. I'm so grateful to my parents for instilling that in me as young girl. Funny fact, my mom always jokes around and reminds me about my little spelling bee "archnemesis" in preschool. I was always in competition with him for something, but it was more his parents holding a grievance against me if anything. We were just there having a good time as children!
Those memories always bring a smile to my face. But some time passed and our family was about to grow a little bigger and we found ourselves moving to good old south jersey ( completely unrelated, but is central jersey a thing or not…? Cause I’ll forever be confused). Moving here was so....quiet. I hated it so much! It was nothing like the noisy streets I grew accustomed to. Suburban life here felt so minimizing and devoid of anything exciting to 7 year old me. It was just trees, and my friends were now an hour and a half drive away from me. Totallyyy having the time of my life. And you know kids, they regress in uncomfy situations and I became a bit shy to my new surroundings.
So I had my first day of school.
Looking back to that time, it was definitely not a fun. I found myself comparing a lot of my "old life" with what was new. I loved my old class teacher, she made me feel so safe and loved! But here, I felt a little singled out. My new teacher yelled at me a lot but not to the other students. And 2nd grade or not, it was certainly not in my character to misbehave. Cry? Oh for sureeee. But misbehave? No. My parents never entertained that in the slightest bit.
My teacher left a lasting impression on me. She tried to get me held back to redo the second grade. For what? It wasn't because of my grades either, which was the funny thing. Apparently there was concern that I “wasn’t mentally mature enough for the third grade”. I skipped kindergarten when I went to my charter school because of a state test that I excelled on. So to her, I had the mentality of a 1st grader, occupying 2nd grade, and ought to be held back again for that.
Jinkies.
Somehow I was made to take a test in the ending of that same school year to almost verify that I should to advance into the next grade. I remember my parents being so angry with my circumstances and a few meetings to the office, but my dad convinced my mom to let me do it because he believed in me, so I did. An experience I vaguely remember, but my parents later that same day found out I was given a third grade test…given to me to see if I could advance to third grade. Now how that does work? But ya girl passed regardless thanks to my parents! Everyday after work and school they would tutor me in a way; they invested so much time in teaching me when we lived in Newark that I was able to understand concepts above my grade level. It was kind of funny because I made 3rd and 4th grade my mission to rub it in her face that I passed. THAT I do remember!
That time period marked my first ever microaggression. And I think moving forward, my eyes kind of opened a bit to what it feels like being singled out for a reason you cant explain, but you just know. Like how I was the only black girl in my classes, or how my classmate with pretty blonde hair and brown eyes was treated with gentleness, versus how I was met with a little less patience.
So fast forward to middle school.
This phase was sad. Being continuously surrounded by media and people that didn’t look like me, I can confidently say... that I had no confidence. It was just *gone*. I can remember telling the little crushes I would have about my feelings and being told, "I dont like black girls" or "you're too dark". And idk about you guys, but I think circa 2011-2015 was just not a good time to be a minority of any kind lol. The persecution was so reallll. I had and internalized so much self-hate, disdaining the things that made me, me.
I wanted to be white so bad.
My desire for assimilation overshadowed my authenticity to the point where I hated the same features I love today. My dark skin. My nose. My kinky 4c hair. I hated being West African. Nope. Throw it away! I wanted long blonde hair forreal. I wished for lighter skin.
I got told these features were ugly by my peers too. It was a joke to them but a scar to me. Having those feelings about yourself is hard, but to hear your insecurities publicly confirmed is something else. I was definitely disconnected from the reality of my identity for a good 5 years. Every time something was said to me I would sweep it under the rug and tell myself that it was minor and that it didn't hurt, adding salt to a deepening wound. And I wanted to bury it deeper and deeper, to leave it unaddressed. That was until I was met with the one of the most publicly embarrassing moments in my young adult life. I had three friends: K, M, and C. C liked this boy, V. A boy with a lighter complexion who was somewhat attractive, but boy did he have a mouth on him. He was rude as all hell, bullied people, and I really couldn’t stand him. I've never interacted with him prior to that day, but a thing about me is that I tend to "people watch" for a time before I mingle. As an introvert, I have to spend some time preparing myself to socialize and this is how I do it to lessen the chances of my own awkwardness. It' s a whole thing. But the point is, I had over two years’ worth of intel on him… I was not trying to mix with that.
So I want you to envision us. We’re in the cafeteria; me, K, M, and C. C starts acting kind of odd. I knew she liked him for whatever reason and she wanted to get V’s attention. So she goes up to V and tells him that I like him just to start conversation I guess. So I explosively respond and say “Girl what are you doing? Why are you lying!”. V makes an outlandish outburst. “WOAHHHHHH. She's ugly as f*ck man. Skin burnt as hell! She looks like shit!!”
Then I hear roaring laughter. Not just from his own table but from the two tables behind him as well, seating maybe 15-20 people each. I look to see C laughing too. I look to my “friends” and see K and M with astonished looks on their faces, but K looks like she about to start laughing. M is not saying anything. I feel the heat take over my body and my eyes well with tears. V said more things, but I can’t remember what was said, I just remember how I felt.
I screamed at V, cursed all the words under the sun, just to ignite more laughter. I was being drained emotionally and I was fighting on my own for something I did not initiate. I was attempting to show that the words didn’t mean anything to me, when they meant everything to me. How do I combat what I believe of my own self?
As I try to defend myself, C and K tell me that I’m overreacting while V continues to loudly patronize me to garner more attention. M is still silent. C tells me that “it’s just a joke” and that I’m “doing too much”. What? Standing my ground is too much? For something you caused? Okay.
This memory may seem like kids just being kids, but it was so much deeper than that for me. First of all if you're into public humiliation then you got it, but I'm def not. My inner child solely remembers that feeling of holding up a fortress that was rapidly falling down all around me. She remembers barely defending herself. The people who were supposed to be her friends, they were laughing along. Just laughing, all she heard was laughter. She was desperately looking for someone to stand up for her but no one came. She was drowning. I just remember hot tears and being pushed into a locker. More laughter. More jokes. That was traumatic, and only widened the depth of my low self esteem.
I decided to fight that because I wasn’t about to start crying more so I made a piss poor attempt at drying my eyes and fortifying myself. I wasn't going to give anyone the gratification of seeing me like this. I put my all into that moment, defending myself that is. Telling him to stop. Shoving him away when he got too near. Cursing his name repeatedly. His friends following, they all continuing to laugh. C and K were still laughing and M was gone. Then a gym teacher pulled me over and threatened me with suspension had I continued. But let V go.
And go he went. Laughing down the halls.
Being a victim to colorism is almost routine for many dark skinned people. And in a time where everyone was chronically online and taking in "normalized" forms of racism, many black girls like myself found and continue to find that maintaining a healthy level of self esteem in their young adult years was/is kind of difficult. The media tells you what’s ideal and what’s not, and unfortunately you just don't make the cut. People become conscious to that message and apply it to their lives, ridiculing those who don’t succumb to the standard. Though harmful, most of the standards are achievable. Weight can be altered, clothes can be changed, hair can be made new. But my blackness, the tone I own, was not seen as valuable at all and to make matters worse, it was unchanging. The percentage of girls who look like me to the majority was incomparable around me before I even discuss the added layer of being dark skin. Don’t get me started on liking boys...just for them to say,
“I don’t really like black girls”
“You’re too dark”
“I usually like white girls, you’re more like my friend”
I can’t change my skin. Or my nose. I could perm my hair, but my 4c hair will always be underneath to remind me.
That day hurt like nothing else. Because I remember how I felt. Defenseless and alone, over the color of my skin. Not being chosen.
That year was unsurprisingly one of my lowest of lows. I was never comfortable calling it depression, as I was never diagnosed. But for about 4 months following I was in an extreme depressive state. I didn’t care about myself. I didn’t care about school. What was the point? I frequently thought of what the world would be like without me in it. I was really in deep. It would come to the point where I would cut class and stay to myself, but with every action comes a consequence. My vice principal found me out and gave disciplinary action, something I've never had before.
My VP asks me why I did what I did. I explained to her my situation, stating that I was feeling depressed lately and that I was having frequent ideations. She asked if I wanted resources and I said no fearing how my parents would react (mental health is not frequently talked about, if at all in the West African communities. There is a large stigma that follows you with that. My parents have come to understand it more as we’ve had discussions surrounding the topic). So she called my parents to report my behavior, telling them that “[She had] large suspicion that [I was] most likely faking depression to get out of trouble”.
She didn’t hear me.
Well she did.
But she didn’t listen.
I was vulnerable. Reaching out for help when you go through a rough patch is hard. So for me to do that and get shot down and invalidated- it hurt. Took away my hope. All of it. So I created a plan and I meant that to be my final day. I would say my goodbyes and do what I had to do.
But when I got home to the bathroom, I could no longer do it. I couldn’t continue. I had everything set, everything ready. But I couldn't bring myself to take that step.
From that night on, I realized I truly was at my lowest low. Nothing seemed worth it. So I began to look up. Coming from a family of Christians, I was familiar with God. But I never knew Him or had personal relation with Him. I never had that passion that believers had, but I was also only 14. So in my weak moment I called out to Christ and asked Him for guidance. I asked Him to comfort me. To put an end to all of these feelings. To choose me because I was never chosen. To validate me because others wouldn't. To see me and all of me. Because what did I have to lose?
Nothing.
In that time, my faith became stronger than any mountain. I may not have been the Christian girl that could quote you who the 12 apostles were on the fly, or say the grace without peeking at my phone, but my heart was with God and on fire for him! There was no boulder I could not move. My God was my Redeemer, He’d help fight this battle. I *had* to believe that. Even if I felt like I lost, I could feel that he was still there with me. This in no means is an endorsement to evade physical resources like therapy, medications, a psychiatrist etc. But personally, that child-like faith saved me from what could’ve easily been the end of my life.
I’m sharing this because God has been so good to me. I need to acknowledge that. I have air to breathe, my organs work, I can see my family. There’s food to eat, a bed to sleep in, and clothes on my back. Yes, I had all of that when I was falling into depression and it was there when things got better. But He brought me that peace that I so desperately wanted. He cooled me down when everything was burning up around me. Everything that He has provided for me has been a blessing. This is a very intimate portion of my life I don’t share often, but I figure if I’m going to talk about faith, I need to be honest.
**Interjecting in 2023 right now**
The journey with my faith hits a 7 year pause here, and I did find myself walking away from Him for some time. But when God wants you, you'll always find your way back to Him.
But that's a story for another day.
Pressing on forward, we come to sophomore year. Mrs. G man, she had a set of lungs on her. Quite the loud Italian woman she was. I loved her so much for it.
In her history class, we did current event Fridays I think, where we would have a class discussion on what we gathered in the news. It was in this class that I began to pull out of myself and stop worrying about assimilation and approval from others. I didn’t know it at the time of course, but reflecting back I did.
I started writing my articles relating to Black Lives Matter (BLM). The movement was still new, about 2 or so years old at the time. I was learning about police brutality and was getting enraged. Surely this would make for a rich conversation? I thought the racism was so bare, so naked in true form, I had to share it.
Man I tell you, I did just that and these people hit me with a load of “I guess” “Idk” “cops are good lol”. It's kind of funny looking back.
I just dedicated myself to learning about politics from that point on. The more I learnt, the angrier I got. Ooouuwweee my spirit did not like injustice in the slightest bittt. I was actively looking to argue with people. Cussing out people I never met before. And their mothers. Can’t forget it. Anybody could get it. Rated E for everybody. And the night Trump won? Oof.
Junior year US history II came and I was once again, one of the few to defend myself. Only this time it was about BLM. Colin Kaepernick had kneeled to protest a victim of police brutality during this period (2016). I said, “you may not agree with his form of protest but it’s his right to do it. I would do the same”. Funny enough, I definitely shared that I was Sierra Leonean at some point in class discussion, so why did he tell me to go back to my country. Major LOL fr.
He ACTUALLY said, “ If you don’t like it here why don’t you just go back to your country?”
Should've dogwalked him for that! I got upset and said “What did you say to me?”, which my teacher told ME to calm down. Now I wasn't hurt or anything, I was just shocked for one moment, prepared to argue the next.
There's a pattern of invalidation to my story. By frequent offenders from members of communities that "rank" a little higher scale on the "privilege" totem pole than me. Isn’t that crazy? Provoke first and get upset next when the dog retaliates to bite you. Now what does that sound like to you? Foolishness. That’s what.
Over the remaining years to follow, I became much more refined in my beliefs. It opened doors to conversations I didn’t know existed, words to feelings I could never explain I had, and I was thinking about the world; to me, I felt like I had reached a higher level of thinking. Just because I gave a damn. Also because I had no choice, yknow…being a black female and all…a minority. I found myself passionate for speaking on injustice because I know what it feels like to be a victim of bullying and racism. I don't want other people to feel how I felt; vulnerable. And it's truly so funny because this call to action has no bounds for me. It's not limited to just being passionate about injustice in the news, it makes me proactive in my day to day life; I go out of my way to make sure others are heard and validated before myself. I hate what I had to go through to achieve that trait but I really love being the empathetic person it's made me become today.
Yet I still didn’t deal with the issues I had for myself. If anything I just channeled it to productive learning.
I had another little incident my junior year. A boy I really wasn’t paying any mind to was overtly trying to get in my pants. No shame in his game. Mr. Man even admitted to having no standards, saying “as long as she’s a girl”.
Nasty!
So here he was in my messages gassing me and I entertained the conversation for a minute. Haven't we all done that once or twice in our lives? Didn’t have feelings or nothing for the guy. Then I found out what he really thought of me. He was chopping it up with his friends and forgot that one of them was a mutual and was also "friends" (I use that soooo loosely) with me..
“She’s a dark ass chunky h*e” is what he said to me.
Damn now what does my weight have to do with anything? Cause whenever he saw me he was DEF not on that type of time. I'm laughing as I recall this because it's actually so funny now. How am I the hoe! With my zero bodies! Just cause I don't want you? Thats insaneeee.
My weight has always been something I struggled with. I wasn’t obese or *fat* or anything, just “proportionately overweight” lol. I hate saying thick because I roll my eyes every time I hear someone say that now. I've always been a curvier girl even though I was very active. Thanks to the genes! But I was confronted with that “dark” comment and realized that I never addressed the years of insecurity I inflicted upon myself and from the outside world. I just repressed it and moved on. I wasn’t upset the boy didn’t want me (or I guess was saying that because I made it known that I didn't reciprocate those "feelings" he swore he had for me, cause that’s just anything) but it was the comment itself that brought those old feelings back.
Following?
Life goes on though. You become older and wiser and appreciate what you learned from the past. I’ve learned so much from the experiences I've had, even the minor ones that hurt me in the past. I credit my mental transformation to those current events in my sophomore class. It forced me to open my eyes to politics, the state of our world, and made me leave behind the choice to disdain my blackness. It put me on the path to accepting and loving myself. It taught me to listen and gave me reason to be patient. I'm not all the way there yet, the journey to self love is not always a straight path but I'm just happy to be on it.
So now I’ve reached the point where I believe I have a lot to say. Ranting on my IG stories is just not cutting it for me! You can only talk so much on those platforms. But here I am creating one for myself not even caring if everyone hears me because at the end of the day, I'm finally happy. With this blog, I’m unapologetically me! I'm not one dimensional, I'm multifaceted and on a committed journey to self-discovery. And I encourage all of us to be!
Bottom line; I want to channel all those feelings from my life, feelings of victimhood, being alone, injustice, and being the little guy, into a space where they can feel as seen as I wish someone would see me. Love, Lian is a love letter from older me to younger me, to my little sister, and those like her. Here, I'm turning those experiences into something beautiful, where I can set the tone! As I said, I hope you find solace here, genuinely. And if not, I hope you kind of understand who I am a little better. You’re free to browse, come as you are. It'll feature topics such as colorism, nursing, relationship advice, cultural discussions, my cultural practices, mental health, faith, coming into your own, life choices, and so much more. People need to be allowed to explore beyond the narrative they are boxed into, beyond what I was boxed into. I'm so passionate about that. We know the conversations that need to be had and which ones need to be amplified. I’ll dive into the history of what I’ve learned and share them with you. Links, resources, all that. This is gonna be a learning curve for me too. It’s going to challenge me to be consistent and work for this platform. But I'm so excited for what this can be, and God willing, I pray He lays His hands allll over this.
So stick around! There's plenty of room here for a seat at this table.
Love, Lian.
And if you’re wondering whatever happened to the guy V? Paying child Support lol. That's the thing with bullies!
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