The Memoirs (Rantings) of a Skinny Black Girl
All my life, I've been searching for the miracle cornbread that would miraculously make all my physical assets inflate and give all the video vixens a run for their money.
Fortunately for me, my genetics worked against me, cursing the very essence of my journey’s existence. I wanted to be thick. There was no if, and’s nor but’s about it. Bigger equaled better and that’s what exactly I was going to get.
See, I wanted to be normal. A normal black girl with a chance to blend in with the crowd. I could empathize with girls who were heavier than thick and stuck out like a sore thumb — I did too. When you’re skinny, your sick, anorexic or extremely fit. You’re never just normal.When you’re skinny you can’t help but wonder what normal feels like. Skinny equates extreme flaws or highly desirable assets, depending on who you talk to.
Time after time, I’ve heard, “I wish I could be skinny like you. You’re lucky!” “Here!” I scream in my head. “Take it!”
Instead of expressing the un-obvious, I smile with a fake confidence of a body I can’t change. I mostly get those reactions from white women. I think they like skin and bones I’m in. I can fit a size 2 easily but when I look in the mirror, it doesn’t seem fair. I’m stuck in another woman’s fantasy body.
This is not a rant. This is not a complaint. This is the reality of Skinny Black Girl. After 20 years of skinnidom, I learned to accept my body. After eating disorders, (extra) weight loss, love and healing, I hope you do too.
This post originally appeared on Medium.com by Whitney L. Barkley, founder of the Skinny Black Girl's Code.
