Of course, it is clichéd to hear “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”. But, from the heart and spirit of a dynamically colorful young lady such as I; if a young lady is radiantly beautiful from flesh to core, but no one is around to gaze at her, is she still beautiful? Sometimes, one must be a broken tie-dye crayon in a case cramped with pens and pencils that disregard the diversity of others. My physical attributes have always made me cringe in inferiority, while other’s perspectives seem to be disgusted or disappointed in my appearance.

As an African American, obesity is a key trend that tailors and embellishes society’s love of skinny jeans and sugary taste buds. Peering deeper into the spectrum, Generation 9-11 is stepping up into a society where the mirror’s reflection defines the quality of one’s existence.

Staring at hip-hop music videos and pop culture reality television shows leaves people in awe at women who flaunt their goddess bodies tightly tailored in lingerie and bikinis. Particularly within the inner city community where I reside, a female that successfully mocks the arousing, promiscuous look of famed video vixens and pornography stars are praised and glorified by horny boys and jealous girls.

Having a ‘phat butt’, being able to ‘twerk’ to sexually please a guy, and adding juicy lumps to leggings and miniskirts all collectively labels a young woman as a ‘bad chick’. What was the perfect description of me? Admittedly, I had no curves; in fact, the only curve that I possessed was my smile, which deteriorated along with my self-esteem. Summer 2012 introduced my self-inflicted eating disorder. My goal before the upcoming school year was to gain at least fifteen pounds- believing that increasing my weight would inflate my beauty.

Despite my work schedule, I found the leisure time to intricately plan my diet, as I was ravenous enough to munch on anything sweet or savory every few hours. Additionally, I conformed to butt-lifting exercises that celebrities testified as ‘easy’ and ‘magical’, just to tone up my imaginary voluptuous body.

This kiddo reached a catastrophic breaking point. At only sixteen years old, I began frantically considering popping pills to add fat to my bones, and even envisioned saving money to undergo plastic surgery for butt implants. Within the midst of my metamorphosis, there was only one person that I could confide in. My best buddy, lovingly known as Potoato Head, has been my classmate and friend for nearly three years, and he has learned every friction, flaw, and fun fact about me.

“I’m worried about you. All of this changing yourself crap is dangerous to your health. You don’t need to prove or improve yourself to impress anyone, especially boys”, he nagged me endlessly through daily text messages.

Ignoring his sincere words, all my heart managed to do was cascade tears of confusion and agony. Flashbacks of bullets that attacked my confidence constantly corroded my mind. Being called ugly by my peers since the third grade, hurtful jokes about my body, and comments about how I will never be good enough for any guy ricocheted dangerously throughout my emotions.

Within the midst of internal wars, silence eventually overthrows all chaos. September 21st, 2012 ventured me off onto a field trip to the Walter E. Convention Center in Washington, D.C., alongside several of my classmates and teachers. This day singlehandedly served as an intervention and inspirational catapult to that stagnant chapter of my life. The featured event was a panel discussion about physical, emotional, and spiritual health, specifically for young people of color. Amongst the leading panel were prosperous doctors, athletes, and philanthropists, who all possessed an extensive caliber of insight. Throughout the discussion, there was an open microphone between the rows of engaged audience members, in case anyone desired to express a thought or question.

Fearfully, I was the absolute first to approach the microphone, anxious to ask what was kindling inside me.

“Hi… I’m a junior attending school in Baltimore City, and I wanted to direct this question to the women of the panel. Um, what would you say to a young girl who has self-image issues and was considering plastic surgery or other unnatural ways to change her body to fit into the idea of what boys say is sexy nowadays”? The words trembled with an unusual relief from my lips.

Each panelist recited delicate, yet powerful words of encouragement to me. I will never forget the advice of former celebrity fitness trainer, who explained the difference between healing and deliverance; knowing how to mend your wounds independently until you have completely overcome your weakness. Affirmations must be enforced and engraved into yourself daily, because they serve as flirtatious, romantic words to yourself, even when no one else cares to uplift you.
This day was a breakthrough- a funeral, birthday party, and wedding for me all wrapped into one field trip. Those epic demons were conquered, my personal image brightened, and now I know the significance of ignoring negative assaults and pushing through cultural stereotypes and teenage phases. Although my summertime frenzy will never become one of those experiences that I can look back on and laugh at, I know that my reflections are healing. Whether I am a stick figure or bubble figure, I behold my own beauty.