I am white.
I have fair skin, light hair and light eyes.
I am also a wee bit Cherokee, which means I have defined cheek bones and "interestingly" shaped nose. I was adopted into a white family, also fair-skinned and light-eyed, but with dark hair. As long as I can remember, I have always lived in predominantly white communities.
I won't say I ever felt different because of how I looked, but I also never felt like I fit in with everyone else. Some of that had to do with being adopted and knowing people knew that about me. I did feel a general unease in life, not really knowing it's cause.
It took me until well into my thirties before I really felt comfortable in my own skin. I'm not really sure how or why it happened, but I began to embrace my differences. I had children who resembled me, and there was no one to compare me with. I was an individual, and it was ok.
Flash forward to the end of April. I went to California for my grandmother's 80th birthday. I never really thought I looked like her, but I definitely fit in with my aunt and an uncle. On this trip, more than most, I was told how much I looked like so-and-so, or resembled this or that person.
This past week I spent in North Carolina with my daughter. She works on the Cherokee reservation, and I spent a lot of time there. Now, while I am white, I could look into many faces and see aspects of myself there: high cheek bones, firm jaw, that nose.
Both instances were comforting to me. This past year has been excruciating. Stress was often overwhelming and the feeling of being alone, solitary, came often. These two separate weeks of being away came like an oasis in the desert.
Never underestimate the power of being with people who look like you.
