My Black Skin

In a moment of profound vulnerability while recovering in the care of a compassionate nurse, I—a Caucasian man—began listening. What emerged is My Black Skin, a deeply intimate, 95,000-word literary memoir that explores the sacred rituals, joys, pains, and quiet rebellions of Black womanhood through the lens of one woman’s relationship with her skin.
Framed as a series of reflective chapters anchored by personal artifacts—from a faded birth Polaroid and a cracked jar of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter to a beaded bracelet from the children who call her “Auntie”—the book follows the protagonist from her 1987 Harlem birth through childhood lotion rituals with her mother, ancestral stories under Grandma’s kerosene lamplight, playground colorism, hair wars, first love complicated by shade, workplace armor, motherhood, public visibility, grief, and revolutionary joy. Each chapter braids personal memory with broader cultural truths: the daily sacrament of tending Black skin as resistance, memory, and love; the tension between visibility and vulnerability; and the ongoing journey of “still becoming.”
Written with humility, rigorous research, and years of listening to lived accounts, My Black Skin does not claim to speak for Black women but offers a carefully crafted, empathetic window into experiences often flattened or overlooked. The prologue explicitly acknowledges my positionality as a White male author, framing the work as an act of deep respect and borrowed truth—an offering shaped by admiration rather than appropriation. The result is a tender, resonant narrative that invites readers of all backgrounds to reflect, empathize, and be more willing to listen.
My Black Skin will appeal to readers of The Body Is Not an Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor, Heavy by Kiese Laymon, and Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer—those seeking literary nonfiction that blends the personal and the cultural with lyricism, ritual, and hope. It speaks urgently to conversations around identity, colorism, intergenerational healing, and the beauty of daily resistance.
Thank you for considering My Black Skin. I would be delighted to send the full manuscript. I am confident this book has the power to create space for understanding and connection in a divided world.