There’s an unspoken rule that introductions are always awkward, and this one is no exception. I figured that it would be best to introduce myself while also giving an introduction to my blog- just to get both awkward introductions out of the way.
I’m Skye and I’m a mixed person.
This blog is a testament to my life as someone who is mixed, and my real life experiences. How I have learned to do my hair, finding products that didn’t irritate my skin, travelling, and probably a bit of my day-to-day experiences. I find that my being mixed (having a black father and white mother) permeates my very being. It’s in my personality, my worldview. Clearly I am more than my skin though, and being mixed doesn’t define me. But for the purposes of this blog, we’ll just settle on the fact that my race does play a big role in my life. Since I just mentioned it, what is the purpose of this blog?
The purpose of this blog is to describe my day-to-day experiences as a mixed girl. This is in the hopes that any mixed girl who reads this can be comforted in knowing they aren’t alone, and their experiences are NORMAL. This is in the hopes that parents adopting a child of color can know what to expect. This is in the hopes that a white mother who doesn’t know how to do her mixed daughter’s hair can pull up this website and be reassured. This is in the hopes that an interracial couple will know that their experiences are shared by me and countless others.
This is because as our society becomes less prejudiced and destroys the artificial barriers between human beings, there’s going to be an increasing amount of girls like me. Boys like me. People like us.
Growing up, I honestly didn’t have much to go off of. I didn’t know anyone like me. My mom would have to put my hair into two pigtails. Going out in public usually resulted (and sometimes still results) in stares. People tried to figure us out. Solve the puzzle.
One of the first times I truly realized what my mixed race was perceived as was when I was about 8 or 9. My mother and I went to a Starbucks and I hugged her and drank some of her coffee. She looked really upset for some reason, and when we left I asked her why. It was then that she told me a man told her that he thought we were lesbians and became angry with her. As if it were so hard to believe she was my mom. Since that first brush with ignorance, I have become more aware, more vigilant. I’m not the only one who has experienced this either. My mom has shared with me on many occasions the prejudice she has experienced from loving a black man. The names she’s been called, the assumptions people have made, the list goes on and on. It’s been a life full of micro aggressions.
Luckily though, I’ve made it out the other side! With eighteen years of experience in being a half Jamaican-quarter Cuban-quarter Scottish mutt, I can say I’ve pretty much got the hang of things. I know how to take care of my hair. I know colors that flatter my skin tone. I know how I’m perceived. I’ve learned not to pay others any mind. In creating this blog, I’d like to integrate my past problems with my present solutions.
Hopefully it helps you.