I wrote a piece for Women reVamped’s November blog series “Redefining Feminism.” Reblogging it here for reference and your reading pleasure. Many thanks to Breannah Alexander, founder of Women reVamped, for asking me to contribute.
Part of me wants to write about my own upbringing. I am the daughter of a single, Puerto Rican mother who should have divorced her husband (my father) sooner and who never made me feel like being visibly of African descent could lead to shame. How? She gloried over my kinky hair, the way the sun melted down into my brown skin, thick thighs and hips, even the gap between my front teeth. She never mentioned how becoming the gap was beyond the United States, in West Indian and West African contexts, and she might not have known. What she did know was easy—I was a thing of beauty, something amazing she’d created, and when I was sent out into the world I took her blessing everywhere with me. Doubt I am loved? NEVER. My feminism resides in this love.
Part of me wants to…
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