Let’s be completely honest. I haven’t always been the best at taking care of myself. I used to put my emotional and wellness needs on the back burner in order to be the best student, the best friend, and eventually the hardest worker. On the outside I’m sure I looked like I had everything together. My hair was always done. My clothes were fresh. My shoe game was on point. But on the inside it was quite a different story. My well-put-together facade made it even harder for me to admit to myself that I needed to slow down and make real time to take care of Number One. After years of dealing with anxiety, self doubt, and depression and finally having the courage to stand up for me, here I am.
Self love is the cornerstone of my message to women and young girls. If you ever pay attention to any of my social media through my personal account or Black Girl Beautiful, you’ll hear me talk about it nearly everyday. I’m also incredibly passionate about embracing yourself regardless of so-called flaws and imperfections. It’s always a pleasure to be be able to share my message and platform with others, and in the January 2017 issue Essence Magazine granted me that wish.
More than a decade ago, I worked at a television station as a news producer. It’s what I’d gone to college for and so it only made sense for me to work within the field which I’d studied. I didn’t want to be one of those recent grads who stayed jobless or accepted a minimum wage position after school, so I made sure I secured this tv job before I even graduated. I felt accomplished and proud, but looking back I realize that I didn’t give myself time to assess and think about what I really wanted to do with my life. Yes, I was good at producing, but was it my passion? Was being a tv news producer my calling?
The first thing many of us hear is the sound of our alarm going off in the morning. We reach over with sleep still in our eyes to turn it off. It’s rarely ever a pleasant alarm that lets you ease into your day… more like a blaring horn screaming at you to WAKE UP! From that moment on every alert possible pops up on your phone. Email from your boss. Meeting at 2 pm. The text from your best friend telling you about the amazing night she had with her new guy. The alarm you set so that you know when to leave the house to beat traffic. In this day of always being so connected, have we forgotten what quiet sounds like? Have we forgotten what our world is like without the noise?
Last Tuesday as the election results were pouring in, I was at the airport waiting to board a flight out of the country. The timing of a planned work-cation to Tahiti could’t have been better. But as I sat in the terminal witnessing all of the hope and progress of the past 8 years disappear, I could feel the anger boiling up inside of me. Once safely on the plane, I closed my eyes and figured when I landed in Tahiti the following morning, the nightmare would be over. It had only just begun.
When I was growing up, mornings were hectic. I hurriedly slurped up my oatmeal, which was always a little too hot for my mouth, as my mother pinched my legs with her acrylic nails in an attempt to help me put on my tights. We would both get suited up in our weekday uniform. I was cloaked in a pleated wool jumper that was worn over a white short sleeved scalloped neck shirt, black tights, black penny loafers and a seasonally appropriate jacket. My mother wore some variation of the regulation businesswoman suit, the type with the shoulder pads that was all the rage in the mid-90’s, purchased from Filene’s Basement or Loemans, no doubt. The suit was accompanied by black tights, a single breasted black trench coat and worn in New Balances. Her heels were either in her purse or at her work desk. We would exit the house together to be carted off separately to our destinations.
For nearly 11 years, I’ve worked successfully as a print model and commercial actress. I started writing about my experiences to vent my frustration with an industry that can be shady, racist, and sexist. For me, writing was therapy. I voiced my opinion and people began to relate to my stories. Over time, I’ve seen my little blog Model Liberation grow beyond belief.