By Alexandria Bullen

My mom is white, my dad is black, and I am both. There was never a defined space where I fit. A floater. A faker. The gray area no one wants to tread, and no one understands. Always in between but never within. A mix of both, but never enough. It wasn’t their fault. They were just two people who were in love, and I am the product. They didn’t foresee the consequences of my complexion. Unaware of the hardships I’d endure in my attempt to fit in.

Charles H. Metcalf III, a multiracial spiritual art director, and a mix of white and black. He described it as a dichotomy of two worlds that he had to navigate at a very young age. The black world and the white world. He explains there were always “these different narratives in my head that created six, seven, eight different versions of myself… now I’m just switching hats and masks every room I walk into… this cost me being able to take a deep breath” (Metcalf). I can relate to these many narratives, and the inability to be comfortable in my own brown skin. My “black” side being naturally gifted in sports and my “white” side getting A’s and burying my head in books. It was always this or that, like I was two separate halves fighting to be one. Never feeling complete or whole or properly understood. Always on opposite ends of the spectrum. But somehow falling in this middle ground of being too black for the white and not black enough for the black. Yet somehow, I am constantly made to feel “so beautiful” or “interesting” as if these two compliments wash away all the traumas of having no space to call home. No community to fall back on. You are so beautiful they’d say, but you are different. You are not one of us. If I’m not black and I’m not white, then what am I?

In school I’d hang out with the mixed kids. They felt like the closest thing I’d get to feeling community. But even then, it still didn’t feel like home because, just like me, every other mixed kid was lost trying to understand which world they fell into. Some felt comfort in the dark side… others claimed the light side, but no in-between that felt comfortable. Jumping in and out of groups, switching up my tones. Switching up my preferences and likes just to be liked. Roaming the halls watching all the groups cliqued up, wishing I didn’t feel so alone. I would do anything to feel I belong.  

Few take the time to get to know me beyond my appearance. Attracted by my unique look but repelled by my in-betweenness. Wishing I’d just pick their side, but at the same time never being claimed. Some judge me by my voice, my mannerisms, where I grew up. Always hesitant to claim where I am from in fear of being labeled and rejected. Making assumptions and judgements of which world I fall into before ever getting to know me. This is the exact reason we feel obligated to wear masks. Lack of identity. Lack of self-confidence. Handing out different copies of ourselves that we believe they will prefer. Printing copies until our ink runs out. An unorganized mess, which version do I share for this context? Until we are alone and on our own, do we come to realize we don’t even know which copy of ourselves is the original.

It always starts with “you’re so pretty, what are you…”, but I long for someone to get to know me beyond my appearance… beyond my complexion… beyond my curls. I want my soul to be seen. So tired of holding my breath, switching up my ways just for you to acknowledge me. Shrinking myself for you to be comfortable. Constantly dismissed, last to be picked. What I shouldn’t and should, completely misunderstood. I want to take a deep breath.

This dichotomy, I continue to struggle with. I need to accept that I fall in the in-between. But how will someone accept me if I don’t even accept myself? In need of constant validation I will never receive. The expectations of what everyone else wants me to be. Sifting through the copies… I will find her sooner or later. Someday I won’t feel forced to choose between two worlds, but rather find comfort in my own. Ready to delete the copies that don’t bring me peace. I am ready to feel whole. I am ready to feel enough. I am ready to be me.

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