I have never really been one for pictures. I rarely smile in the ones I took when I was younger (baby/toddler/elementary school pictures excluded). In fact, for my senior pictures, I did smile in some, and everyone requested my serious pose. That’s how they knew me, my friends said, and that’s how they wanted to remember me.

As I got older, and less secure in who I was (and am), I hated pictures more. They’re for beautiful people. They’re for skinny people. They’re for folks with perfect skin. All I got going for me is smarts, but I can never be pretty. I can never be attractive. I can never be wanted.

I belong in the background. Not center stage.

Even now, despite having selfies all over my Instagram feed, I don’t always feel 100% comfortable posting them. When no one likes them, I still feel a touch of sadness, even though I only have a handful of followers that have their own busy lives to contend with. Irrational as it is, I still sometimes feel like pictures are for people not me.

The beautiful ones.

And yet, Sunday, for whatever reason, I decided to join in the #sundayselfie craze that goes on every week. Can’t explain why. Devil made me do it, perhaps.

IMG_20140216_132426

And there I am. No makeup, no filter (I was tempted), hair tied up in a green and blue head wrap, favorite off the shoulder tee.

And I love it.

May not mean anything to anyone else in the webisphere, but damn, that is something serious for me. I look good, and I’m not ashamed to say that.

And that scares me a little.

As a fat, black woman, daring to love who I am is a radical act. It shouldn’t be, but it is. I’ve had people tell me about I’m almost perfect except I am fat. Almost perfect except my teeth aren’t completely straight (and now you know why I rarely smile.) Almost, but not there yet.

It has taken me years to realize I am not something that needs to be fixed. I’m not broken. Society is. And I am not gonna feed the machine not one more day.

I still have my moments of “ugh, bad everything day,” but more and more I am able to push that to the side, puff my chest out, and strut anyway.

Revelations from one picture.

And more to come.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s