There Is Melanin In Misfortune

By: Candice McCoy

Mis-for-tune.ˌ/misˈfôrCH(ə)n/ noun: an unfortunate event. Or events with an “s” if there’s melanin involved. When a black women is born, her life will either be directly or indirectly affected by a system that has been put in place to put not only her, but those she loves and will love at a disadvantage. From the types of doctors that will bring her into this world to the type of casket she will lay in when she leaves it, her melanin will reek of misfortune.

I never knew not having a father in my household was a misfortune because I knew so many other brown people who had the same “problem.” I never knew that his absence would play a part in relationships that he didn’t even know existed. I never knew that not being treated like daddy’s princess would make me expect it from another man even more. I never knew that I would hold on to men who were toxic to my health longer because I knew what it felt like to not have a man in my life at all. The daddy issues were one thing but the lack of self-love? Well that was a whole different ball game.

I’m a dark chocolate girl. My skin tone is literally what they sell at your local grocery store in the checkout line. When I was little, being a dark chocolate girl made me an easy target and earned me the name “Blackie.” I didn’t even know being “too black” was a thing until my classmates told me.

I didn’t do anything outrageous to try to change my skin tone or anything; however, it did make me feel less than. To feel like an outsider or like you’re not as good as everyone else in elementary school is something I hope my kid never has to go through. Hell, yours either. A kid that young should be more carefree than today’s average black girl. I never wished I was lightskin but I do remember wishing I was beautiful.

When I finally believed that I was the most beautiful chocolate girl I know, I ran into another problem. Apparently, a lot of guys thought the same. I used to get, “you’re cute for a darkskin girl” and actually say “thank you!”, as if that wasn’t the most backhanded compliment of all backhanded compliments. But not only that, it was as if I was an exotic animal. “Chocolate” became a sexual thing.

Everything about me was considered something to taste, bite, melt, etc. to the guys who pursued me. It made me uncomfortable then and it still makes me uncomfortable today. Eventually I started to feel like I was in the wrong. I started to think that I was saying or doing things that made guys want to sexualize everything I did or said.

I’m not into dressing sexy, unless I’m going out. I’m not into wearing a full face of makeup everyday. Most of the heels I own don’t get worn often. I have a shitload of sneakers and I love adidas track pants and t-shirts and I was still considered “sexy chocolate” to some random man, young or old.

All of these things played a role in my first relationship. When I checked into the relationship, I had to claim my bags of daddy issues, wishing I was beautiful, and always feeling like guys didn’t see more than sex when they looked at. 2/3 of these things still haunt me. Can you guess which ones they are? Some things will cut you so deeply that the wounds never heal completely.

The only thing daddy taught me about men was that maybe I should just hold on tighter when they try to leave my life like I tried to do with him; and the other two things taught me the same. I held on tighter to my first relationship because he made me feel beautiful and I never had to wish I was.

I held on tighter to my first relationship because it meant not having to go back to guys who sexualized everything about my appearance. I held on tighter. Despite the arguments. Despite the confusion. Despite the chaos. Despite the toxicity. Despite everything, these things made me hold on tighter to something that almost destroyed me.

———————————————————————————–
Written by: Candice McCoy, Founder of Lifeinapile.com