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The Black Girl Experience

 As I stood there, confronting him – the guy who'd been pursuing me – his eyes seemed to look through me rather than at me. My words, laced with the frustration of being perpetually misunderstood, seemed to dissipate before reaching his ears. It was a dark, yet familiar reminder of how often our voices, how often the voices of black women fade into the background when we dare to articulate our existence. This moment, insignificant as it may seem, is a microcosm of the black girl experience – a journey fraught with challenges yet underscored by an undeniable spirit. Growing up, beauty seemed like a club to which I didn’t have access to. The world around me had standardised beauty, and I, with my black skin and nappy hair, didn’t fit. It took years to unlearn this, to see the reflection in the mirror not as a deviation from the norm but as a beautiful defiance of it, no matter how much my brain said no, you're not it.  Absent fathers, a common narrative for black girls, left many

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