Beauty Marks & Super Powers

I looked in the mirror today and noticed the marks on my face. The once non-existent, periodically smooth surface of my face became peppered with faint beauty marks that sometimes-looked like pimples about four years ago. Within the last few months though, they have begun to slowly rise, on my cheeks and under my left eye. I smiled, because once again, I’m receiving yet another example of how I’m my Mother’s child. As if sharing 98% of her facial features and mannerisms wasn’t enough. She told me that her beauty marks became more noticeable in her mid 20s and then during her pregnancy with me, they popped right on out. She was almost 27 when she had me. I’m almost 33. No husband or babies just yet, but I can look in the mirror at my blossoming beauty marks turned moles and smile,

“You your Mama’s first-born Girl!” 

The first jewel in her crown of three, as she often says.

It’s funny how things are passed down to us from our ancestors. It’s one of my absolute favorite things about life and family. How a simple thing like having moles on my face can make me feel that much more connected to my Mother, who gets her moles from her Father who gets his from his mother, a woman I never knew. Rites of passage, traditions, personality and physical traits: how a simple mole on my face can take me to the exact moment when I was probably 7 or 8 hearing my Mom say she wanted to get the moles on her face removed. And me screaming “No Mommy! I love your moles. I think they’re pretty.” I also remember telling her that if she ever went missing, it would help us find her because I had never seen Black girl freckles before. She laughed and I remember feeling good because I made her laugh.  I also remember wishing my Mommy felt as beautiful as I thought she was. I didn’t connect that significance until I got much older.

Staring at my face, I often feel like I’m looking at her. Constantly reminding myself that I’m beautiful no matter how I feel. Because I think my Mother is beautiful and I look like her so…

My 30s have brought me much more clarity on the subject of my self-confidence when it comes to my looks (& just about everything else as well) & I’m grateful. So here I am, staring in the mirror, at my newly forming beauty mark/moles and smiling. Smiling because they connect me to people who I share blood with but don’t even know the half of. Because they bring me even closer to the woman that carried me and made the choice to love me unconditionally no matter what hurt and pain she was going through. Because to me, these marks are just another sign of my super powers and them showing themselves means there’s a new level to reach.