by Alishia McCullough
My own healing from the constructs of colorism, texturism, and featurism has allowed me to examine the places within my body where I am holding these interlocking constructs, the wounds that originated in cultural oppression and were injected into our family histories, and that were then reinforced by the way that we talk about our bodies and pass those beliefs down from mother to daughter.
I have also worked to not only uproot my inherited narratives about body and beauty ideals, but to release the energy of trauma that I inherited, which is connected to the fear and survival I inhabited when I held on to those ideals.
I had internalized a lot of anti-Blackness connected to my identity.
Growing up, I was not exposed to a lot of diverse representations of Black women and femmes, and I had internalized a lot of anti-Blackness connected to my identity. As an adult, I am perpetually doing the work to unpack these issues within myself. I didn’t grow up knowing about Black feminists like Audre Lorde, bell hooks, Toni Morrison, Octavia Butler, Zora Neale Hurston, or others—but now I have reclaimed their stories, which have helped me understand and see myself.
I have pictures of ancestor Harriet Tubman on my ancestral altar, and an image of the Black Madonna—ancient depictions of the Virgin Mary with dark skin—because I want to surround myself with the existence of Black beauty and boldness in all the wonderful, myriad ways it has manifested throughout time.
Recently, I ordered a book written by Catherine E. McKinley called The African Lookbook: A Visual History of 100 Years of African Women, which was full of African women existing in their bodies. Some photos were taken before colonization, and it was amazing to see women in a variety of body shapes, sizes, skin tones, hair textures, and features—wearing a variety of adornments—taking up space. Some of the photos were of women and femmes unbashful about their bare chests or bottoms being exposed.
They were not sexualized or objectified, because being in their bodies was common and had spiritual connections. The book also shows representations of Black women and femmes sitting down and gazing directly into the camera within postures of rest, joy, and confidence. Some postures even represent the physical experience of taking up space as they sit with their legs open and their arms resting on the back of a chair in a way that Western society would deem unladylike.
Black beauty and the Black body cannot and should not be contained inside a box
These images continue to remind me that Black beauty and the Black body cannot and should not be contained inside a box—and that our ancestors have always been expansive and embodied. We now have the opportunity to reclaim what was lost and to remember what has been misremembered about our bodies.
Healing ourselves from colorism, featurism, and texturism requires us to both examine the places within our own bodies and families where we have been holding on to these damaging constructs and to begin the hard but necessary work of unpacking them. By making an honest assessment of the way these constructs show up for us, and then working to amplify the narratives of those who experience the most social oppression around these beauty ideals, we can finally address the wound.
This is how we stop directing our anger and rage—whether conscious or subconsciously—toward each other, and instead join together to take down the power structures that have instigated our separation from one another and from our own bodies. In this way, we liberate both ourselves and our communities.
Excerpted from Reclaiming the Black Body by Alishia McCullough. Copyright © 2025 by Alishia McCullough. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.