I vividly remember when I was their age how I wanted someone to call me pretty, or beautiful. How I ached for someone to just see me. How I wanted someone, anyone, to just notice me.
In my own need to be desired, wanted and told that I was beautiful, I stayed in beds that were not safe spaces for me.
I cried for this young lady. But I also wondered how something that was considered unimportant in my family and vain in the Christian culture I grew up in could be so important to not only Trey Anthony but other women as well.
I think of my own story of beauty. My father never or if ever…
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