When I’m asked why do I love myself, I felt my eyes start watering and my throat closing. I am a child that has been asked to stand up in front of the class and introduce myself on the first day of school and all of a sudden I don’t know my name or fun fact. I can’t decide which part of me I love the most, the detachment issues I developed at 16 or the anger issues I inherited from my bloodline. I’m supposed to be writing about all of the things I love about me and I came up with the list of what I learned to hate until I heard her.
I hear a seven year old girl running home from the bus stop dodging the sticks and stones boys were throwing at her. She’s crying. They called her stupid, telling her she’s ugly and hitting her. I see her. Caramel skin, curls braided up into two pigtails with purple bobos, a heart of innocent gold. I kneel to her and tell her how beautiful she is and there is not a single thing I wouldn’t do for her. I wipe tears off of rosy cheeks and hold her, turning sniffles into soft smiles.
I hold this girl so tight hoping if we mend into one person then she never has to feel alone or unwanted.. She never deserved to feel alone or unwanted. Sometimes I still have to hold that girl today. I have to sit and tell her she’s pretty when the world around her is throwing sticks and stones. I have to hold my little girl tight even when the stones are thrown from inside the house. I have to remind her she is smart, she is successful, she is loved by many …but especially by me.
I may be a result of my trauma but I am the hug, love, and comfort that my little girl needed and how could I ever hate that.