Am I Truly Secure?: Self Evaluation

This blog post was inspired by my girl Martina’s “Some Bodies Confident” post.


Over the last few months I have been having an internal battle within myself. Its sad that to the world I look like I have It all together, yet when I go home I struggle.

One of my main areas of insecurity has ALWAYS been my b-o-d-y.  My weight, my body parts  proportion, my hair….

I have gone from a double 0 to a 6 to  8 o a 10 in less than 7 years.

There have been days when I would go to try on a piece of clothing that was once one of my favourite pieces and have had to give it away because it can’t go up my thighs or past my hips. One would think in a world where women are literally paying thousands to get their bodies altered, that I would me embracing something that I have that others have had to pay for…. sadly that is NOT the case.

Insecurely Secure.

Thats the term I have diagnosed myself with. Im secure in who I am, secure in my place on earth, yet insecure in ways that don’t even make sense to me. I look in the mirror some days naked and literally stare at my fat, I pull it, I punch my belly in, I turn to the side to see if my belly fat surpasses my breast and then I repeat the process again. There have literally been days I have tried to starve myself, shove my hand into my mouth( EPIC FAIL), googled new diets.. THE WORKS!

I can assure you I think I have tried everything to get rid of the one thing that has me the most self conscious since I gained weight.

Let me bring you back in time to around Grade 9/10. These were the days when I was at my peak of slimness, I was a whopping size 00/1 max a 2 on a good day. These were the days when my hair was at its longest, I had no cares in the world and I believe my skin was clear. Other than my coloured braces, I was content with my looks.

YES, I was slim BUT I didn’t feel like I didn’t look good. Those were my early stages of “puberty”, my body wasn’t as filled out then it wasn’t until Grade 11 that my body started to really fill in and I drastically jumped from a size 2 to a 6. I wasn’t complaining though, because the hips and curves that puberty brought also brought attention and admiration.  Back then It was all okay to me because my stomach was flatter, my belly fat blended in perfectly with the rest of my body and caused no reason for me to overthink or evaluate myself . I was put on birth control pills which I believe sped up my weight gain, causing my body to blow up a lot quicker than it should have.

Sadly with age comes a slower metabolism, periods bring HORRIBLE cravings and then my emotional eating habits have not contributed effectively to my desire to maintain my weight.

When I am happy .. I EAT

When I am sad.. I EAT

When I am angry.. I EAT

I guess that has been the root of all evil, my love for food.


Two inches  taller than all the rest of the guys, Three inches taller than all the girls,  I have struggled with being “Jolly Green” the Giant since my early years of life. Imagine being under age 12  and having other kids draw the most attention to your height, make fun of you because you are tall and then have the issue of being bigger in body then all your friends. I have my moments, I have days when I get too much into my thoughts and I deconstruct myself, I stare in the mirror looking for flaws to jab at and feel in-secure about.

In some environments my height is like the moment when Charlie finds the Golden ticket in “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate factory, its a “wow” “omg” “I wish I had your height”.. moment. There are many days when I couldn’t feel happier to be this tall spectacle that stands out even when I don’t try. I have had people come up to me in NYC to ask me If I model, telling me just how far they believe I will go with my “look” and height.

But that’s just one’s opinion.

I have sadly always been one caught up in others opinions and thoughts on me. If a majority of people express their displeasure towards a certain hair style or outfit I wear even though I genuinely don’t want to be swayed I am. Ive realized for years I have put up this big tough front to the world, making some think I am the queen of confidence when just like everyone else I struggle with my appearance. If my hair doesn’t look good my mood changes, if my makeup doesn’t POP I don’t want to leave my house, the obsession with looking perfect a main focus of mine.

I’ve been compared to other females, my “blackness” looked down upon because my roots are not figuratively and naturally biracial.

“Black girls are too this … Black girls are too that”

Leading me to believe that what I am and what I was born with wasn’t and is not good enough for them. Throughout out my 27 years of life I have wished I had a white mother, wished my skin was lighter, wish my nose straighter and eyes lighter just to feel accepted like the people around me. <– This is what growing up in a mainly biracial and caucasian environment can do to one.

Yesterday I watched an episode of “Dear White People” that was so relatable that I had me thinking. One of the main characters “Coco” talked about the struggle she felt as a black woman who was looked down upon because she was too dark, she never fit in the way she wanted too. My issues have never necessarily been about my skin per say, I’ve never felt like my skin  complexion was a hindrance from  getting any jobs or getting into any relationships, but I knew hoe Coco felt being that “black girl”.

Grade 8-9 I lived in a predominantly european area in Toronto. My sister and I along with maybe 2-3 other black girls were literally the ONLY black females at that school. Imagine a school with limited racial diversity, a school that birthed the idea that racism was in fact real. I was so young then and I didnt realize just how much hatred I received from my peers mainly because of the colour of my skin. I felt beautiful, I thought I was fine, yet the jabs, “nigger comments”, evil snares, looks of disgust and feeling of their own self entitlement had my younger self in doubt.

Years of built up internal confusion.

I have felt my gloomy mood affecting me, my work performance, the way I put myself together for work and even the way I take pictures, aiming to do stuff in a way to please others and become  that socially acceptable 5’11 black girl that the world will accept and grow to love.

My mental thought:

Creamy Crack will straighten out my naps

Coloured contacts will make me look more ethnically confused

Wearing that xyz will accentuate my body I’ve been struggling in the gym to up keep.

Let me tell you, every time I have gotten close to feeling like Ive made It “physically”, I have had my skin beak out, my weight fluctuate, my edges thin out on me and my favourite pair of jeans refuse to cover the “bulge”.




God and I both know ( along with my close friends who I rant off too daily), the day my hair cooperates, my body gets on that Teyana Taylor and my skin glows naturally without bronzer


People assume because of what I post that I am a certain way and I have made It my goal to crush any stereotypes associated with who I am.

The purpose behind this post is a safe place for me to vent, to release all the bottled up feelings that have been on my mind for months, the emotions trapped inside the tears soaked into my pillow case and to shut down misconceptions .

Im not writing this or sympathy, nor am I writing this for any form of fame.

I believe that I can be free from opinions, from internal dissatisfaction and self confusion. We live in a world that praises woman who look perfect and shuns woman who have minor and major faults.

I pose this question to all my ladies: Are you truly secure?

Have you allowed others and whats on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter to dictate how you should look, what you should and should not like about yourself and allow you to nit pick.

Though I have my days when I feel like crap, look like crap and want to spend my day sulking I have come to thankfully realize that every issue I have with my physical appearance is something that can be fixed.

By fixed I don’t mean cosmetic surgery and I am not looking down on or snobbishly frowning towards woman who have done it, I just realize that sulking about what I don’t like won’t change me into someone I will.

Feeding my body garbage and binging on chips and ginger-ale ( yes my Caribbean’s It is POP) will not help aid me into achieving and maintaining my ideal body. Pressuring my scalp with tight braids and alopecia promoting hair -do’s just for versatility won’t help my hair grow.

I WILL ALWAYS BE TALL! I was born that way and nothing I can do will ever change that.

The day I wholeheartedly embrace the steps needed to change.

I will be secure.



No one is you.. thats your super power.




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