I don't recall the first time I realized I was Black. Maybe it was while attending my first elementary school, which was of mixed demographic. Maybe it was while watching one of my favorite TV shows, starring an all-White cast. Or maybe, it was the first time my mother told me that, as a little girl, she wished she was White. No, I do not recall the exact moment of personal realization. In fact, I'm not sure if the moment was even personal.

"You talk like a White girl," a statement that I heard innumerable times as an adolescent. Initially, I would laugh off the statement, taking it as some sort of half-witted compliment. As I grew older, however, I started to become very uneasy with the remark. I realized that my counterparts, and my family even, were using it to be divisive. They spotted a difference in me, and they wanted me to know it. They were challenging my Blackness.

Admittedly, this challenge may not have been such a challenge to me, had I been secure in my identity. As I mentioned before, my mother herself had been unsure. That unsure little Black girl grew up, had children, and remained resentful of her Blackness. Therefore, there was no effort in instilling Black pride in our household. I wasn't even provided with an example of what it meant to be Black. So, when others suggested I didn't fit the bill, I believed them. I was stuck, unsure of who I was.

Looking back, I know I considered the words of others a bit too much. My mother's words had planted a seed of uncertainty, and that reoccurring remark had watered it. It wasn't until I completely changed my environment that I had the opportunity to know and become secure in my Blackness. Still, my fear is for little girls, like the one I once was. I fear that how they identify with Blackness may be misguided by the insecurities and judgement of others. Even more so, I fear that they may never have their own personal moment of realization.