As a little girl, I didn’t love the skin I was in, I was called “Darkie, Boot, Charcoal.”
It was always understood that light is better and White is Right.
As a result, I used the Brillo pads I saw my mama use to clean her pots and pans to scrub my Black skin.
My feelings of self-hatred, inferiority, and shame consumed me. Who decides what is considered beautiful anyway?
Then one day, my ninth grade Social Studies Teacher told...