I been a dark skin sista all my life. Whether in a afro, locks, relaxed or tightly bound braids. I have spent my days as a black woman through and through. During my youth, I spent many days and nights feeling as though my blackness never matched up to societal norms. Growing up I wasn’t allowed to speak slang or listen to rap. My mother and father ran a tight ship.

My mother in particular won’t allow me to watch BET or pop, lock and drop it. Oftentimes, I desired to drop down and get my eagle on (It’s a Nelly song, if you know you know). So I would sneak out of my room at 10 pm and watch BET Uncut while my parents were sleep. But a couple of times my Mother caught me and shut the TV off. While snapping on me for watching content that demeaned black women.

So I would spend hours and hours reading books. I read essays and wrote poems for fun. I was a book nerd by trade and often struggled to fit in with my peers. I obsessed over poetry books in the library for years.

Yet, I was still determined to dance like the girls on the music videos. So one day in 7th grade, I broke it down to the floor while popping that thang. I was working it while blasting Ying Yang Twins. I was twerking my back while popping it… when all of a sudden, I heard a loud pop sound. I went way, way too low while dancing and accidentally slid into a full out split.

I screamed loudly and yelled for help. I called out like a young pup in pain. My desire to fit in brought on great pain. My legs felt as though they were broken in two separate parts. I feared that I would never be able to walk again. I tried to get up out of my broken state by grabbing onto the table for assistance but I couldn’t move my legs. When suddenly my Mother walked into the room.

Gurl, What’s wrong with you? she asked.

I slid into a split while popping. I can’t get up. I think I need to go to a hospital Mom.

You ain’t going to the hospital. I told you not to be doing those nasty dancing. Now get yourself up.

Ma, you not gonna help me get up?

She said, Nope, you got yourself into that situation. Get yourself out! as she walked out of the room.

I started crying softly but she never came back. After two hours of being stuck on the floor. My Father finally got off work and my Mother instructed him to help me. He walked over of where I was on the floor and looked down at me. He sighed and shook his head in disbelief. It took him a few minutes because my legs were fixed in the position and stiff. I yelled and groaned in pained as he grabbed me by my torso and picked me up.

Daddy I think I injured my leg.

Walk it off, you’ll be alright. He said, as he lit a cigarette and puffed.

But it hurts.

Listen, baby gurl. Now you can’t just be doing stuff like that. You gotta stretch and warm your muscles up. You”ll be okay. He continued shaking his head and chuckled a bit as he sat down on the bar-stool.

It was the most embarrassing moment of my life. But at least, I had my Dad to pick me up. It’s always nice to have people you can rely on when you need help. It’s crazy now but looking back, the acceptance and things that I thought I needed never really made me feel whole. But having my family around always made my burden a bit lighter.


Love always, Esha <3