The Power of Underestimation

I believe in the power of underestimation.

As a young, African American woman from the South, I’m not expected to go far in life. Just a few weeks ago, while I was attending a predominantly white law camp in Washington, D.C., only a fraction of my peers believed that I would succeed in my efforts to win mock trial. People assumed that I was dumb because of my Southern accent, as subtle as it may be. In fact, a few individuals wondered how I was smart enough to get into the program without the help of Affirmative Action, a practice with which I strongly disagree.

I believe in proving people wrong. I am capable of doing anything someone else can, if I put my mind to it. Yes, I’m black. Yes, I’m a girl. Yes, I live in the Deep South. But, I go to one of the top magnet schools in the state, taking nothing but AP and advanced honors classes, all while maintaining a 3.9 GPA. If that isn’t beating a stereotype, I don’t know what is.

I believe that stereotypes can make or break a person, and I’m choosing to let mine make me. No one- and I mean, no one- holds the keys to my future except for me. My strength comes from trying to break through the barriers society has placed on me. My drive stems from the desire to prove all of my naysayers wrong. Their underestimation motivates me to be the best and the brightest, even if I’m the blackest.

Don’t let stereotypes from ignorant people hinder you, because you, and you alone, decide what you can achieve. Don't be offended when people underestimate you. Instead, use it as a tool that catapults you into the next level of success. Let those snap judgements serve as a constant fuel that pushes you to work harder. Remember that mock trial I was talking about? Yeah, I won. Southern accent and all.

The Bluest Eye

I, like a plethora of other dark-skinned little girls everywhere -especially down South- grew up wondering why I couldn't have lighter skin. It is something that I've struggled with ever since elementary school, when I would ask God to give me light skin, long hair, and pretty eyes every night before bed, and each morning I would wake up disappointed.

Middle school brought a whole slew of issues with it, the main one being boys. All around me, I saw my White, Asian, Hispanic, and biracial friends being chased after by guys. You know what they all had in common?  Light skin, long hair, and pretty eyes. Those girls had boys ask them to the movies or school dances, but I didn't. So, I tried everything I could to fit in. I bought the same clothes, shoes, and accessories that my friends wore, and nothing changed besides the numbers in my grandmother's bank account. After many failed attempts at assimilation, I assumed that boys didn't like me because I had dark skin.

Freshman year and the beginning of my sophomore year of high school didn't change my attitude, either. If anything, it made me more bitter and jaded about being a dark-skinned girl in today's society. I just accepted that no one was going to want me for me. I would have to bring something else to the table. My self-esteem was -and still is- so low, that I would take whatever attention a boy would throw my way, good or bad. I mean, I thought dark-skinned girls couldn't afford to be picky.

It wasn't until May of my sophomore year that my outlook began to change. My English teacher told me to read The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison, and I realized that my attitude was only doing more harm than good. I haven't fully regained my self-confidence, but I'm in a much better place than I was before. While I still struggle with self-hate from time to time, and I haven't quite broken the habit of avoiding the sun like the plague, I'm slowly -but surely- learning to love my dark skin.