A few days ago as I was scrolling through Instagram I came across a post for an African-American female writer that I started following at the onset of the Covid quarantine. It was a selfie she’d taken to publicize an event she was about to take part in. As I looked at her picture I thought what a beautiful woman. She was gorgeous in a bold, red lipstick. Her lips were full determined to be noticed as the smile that brightens a room. Her bottom lip was just a bit bigger than the top and protruded just a bit. When I looked at her I saw a beautiful smile, av gorgeous Black woman and her gorgeous lips. After a few seconds in it came to me that her lips were not different from mine yet I have never worn red lipstick. I have never worn lipstick at all, only a little gloss. I’ve always thought that my lips were too big and I dare not draw attention to them. How could I see such beauty in others and not recognize it in myself?
I don’t know when it happened but some time ago I decided that I wasn’t pretty. The first time that you are told that you are ugly, you might not believe it. After years of being told you’re not worthy, not acceptable, not lovely start to believe it.
I am no longer believing that I am not beautiful. I no longer believe that Black women are not beautiful. We are beautiful in all of our forms and shapes and sizes and temperaments and talents. All made in the image of God and lovely.
Dilane is coming to visit this weekend and when she arrives the first thing we will do is go to the mall and buy some red lipstick.
becoming dr. jo 