God Is a Black Woman by Christena Cleveland

Author:Christena Cleveland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2021-12-11T00:00:00+00:00

bulges in my body

I binged when I babysat at the neighbors’ house, scavenging their freezer for cookies-’n’-cream ice cream, and then using my spoon to smooth the deep dent I had made in their half gallon carton. I binged at the summer camp buffet, relieved that no one really knew me and could tell that I was eating more than “normal.” But sleepovers were my favorite place to binge because Little Caesar’s pizza was abundant, bowls of buttery microwave popcorn kept magically appearing, and mini-Snickers bars were passed around the circle of girls faster than gossip. In the midst of the pampering, laughter, and ’80s movie marathons, no one noticed that I did not stop eating all night. It was the one place I could binge around other people.

I was a meticulous binger, quick to cover my tracks. On the outside, everything looked dandy. I continued fasting and praying every Sunday and, since I was active in sports, I didn’t gain weight. Despite the regular binges, I convinced myself and others that I was still on track to get that good life and good husband.

But I couldn’t have predicted how puberty would expose my dirty little secret. Though marriage was a common topic of discussion in our family, we never spoke of sexuality, hormones, or body development. So, I was as shocked as anyone when, all of a sudden, my binges led to bulges and my once svelte body began to get pudgy in all the wrong places. Like many other girls in my fifth-grade class, I desperately wanted enough boobs to justify a coveted training bra. I didn’t get the boobs, but I did get a plump stomach, chipmunk cheeks, and thick thighs.

And my parents were not happy.

Instead of telling me the universe’s deepest Truth—that thick thighs save lives—they fed me more of whitemalegod’s oppressive lies. In what felt like a déjà vu flashback to our conversation about my skinned knees, Dad sat me down and told me I needed to lose weight because no man would want to marry me if I was fat. Then he enlisted reinforcements to affirm his message. A few weeks later, in the privacy of his church office, my great-uncle Elmer, the family patriarch, groped my ass and told me that if it got any bigger, no man would want me. Later that year, during a public church service, a self-appointed prophet grabbed the mic, picked me out in the crowd, called me up to the front of the church, and “prophesied” that God was displeased with me because I was too fat. Whitemalegod always covers his bases, and I received the message loud and clear. I needed to do more and be better in order to be acceptable.

In this way, whitemalegod added more fiery hoops to my already hazardous spiritual obstacle course. In order to live, in order to be a human, in order to be lovable, I had to jump through even more fiery hoops. I had to fast and pray and pray and fast .

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