I’ve never felt like I belonged. “Never” is a really long time to feel like you don’t fit in, but being the only half-Asian person in my entire small town reminded me daily that I was “different.” My childhood was spent trying to fit in. To be more American To be less Asian.To have blonde hair instead of black. To have big, blue eyes instead of slanted brown ones. To have a mom who didn’t speak with broken English. And to be noticed by the boys for being pretty – not “different looking.”

Even as I type these words, I am sad that so much time was spent wishing to be or look like someone else. I am sad that I spent so much time trying to change who I was in exchange for being someone I wasn’t. But diversity looked different in the 80’s and diversity in my small town was black or white – with not much color in between.

I still remember the pinch of words said to me by my peers. Things like:

“What are you anyway?” (“Human” was not the response they were looking for.)
“Why do your eyes slant?” (As though I could explain that in 6th grade?)
“At least my parents are from the same country.” (Still not sure what this even meant.)

Every word made me more ashamed of how I looked and that shame made me believe I didn’t belong. What a cruel, cruel world to grow up in.

My parents were serious about education. My mom was a school teacher for many decades and my dad, still to this day, takes college classes when he can. He’s over 80 years old. Their love and appreciation for education meant that higher education was the only option for me. It was expected that I would attend college after high school, and I did.

The first time I stepped onto the Texas A&M college campus, a life-altering event happened. I was with a friend and had stopped to meet a group of new students. We introduced ourselves and as soon as I finished my introduction (“Hi, I’m Angela and I’m from Atlanta, Texas”) one of the students said, “But where are you from? You’re really beautiful.”

In that moment, everything changed.

I’m not being dramatic when I say in that instance, a veil was lifted. And once lifted, I saw myself differently for the first time.

Someone who belonged because of my diversity.
Someone worth knowing because my parents weren’t from the same country.
Someone who was beautiful because of my black hair and brown, slanted eyes.

If you’ve ever wondered if your words have power, they do. Words caused me to reject my identity in my younger years and reclaim it years later. Words lifted a veil of shame and unlocked a source of self-love that I didn’t know existed.

And most importantly, words created a place for me to fit in and fostered a sense of belonging.

To this day, my heart is compelled to create a space where everybody belongs (sound familiar?) This passion was birthed out of pain. Each and every time I make room for people to fit in – I am healed.

And hopefully, they are too.

Reflect on your “imperfect fit." If you’ve been living under a veil of shame and feeling like there’s no place for you, ask yourself:

What words have you allowed to create your identity?
What voices are you listening to?
What words of kindness and love do you need to say to yourself?
What words of truth do you need to let in?
How can you use your voice to speak truth to others?

| Keep Reading: Motherhood Mayhem by Emily Field >>