My Big-GOD’s Masterpiece is a riveting account of a coming of age girl who was desperately fighting for self-love because the environment she was exposed to negatively influenced her self-esteem. This environment made her life difficult and took her down a mentally dark path, which could have led to a destructive lifestyle and eventually suicide.
This is a heart-wrenching and eye-opening story in which readers will discover why it is important to grow to love every part of their face and bodies despite what the beauty industry deem as the "perfect" face or facial feature/s. This will also serve as an encouragement for young girls and ladies with similar struggles to learn to adopt an attitude of gratitude, know that their unique attributes serve a greater purpose, and not allow people’s words to shape their perspectives on what beauty looks like. Most importantly, with God being our Creator, they will find HE has not forsaken them, and they can find validation and comfort in Him and be empowered to push past the beauty industry ideals and standards.
My Big-GOD’s Masterpiece is a riveting account of a coming of age girl who was desperately fighting for self-love because the environment she was exposed to negatively influenced her self-esteem. This environment made her life difficult and took her down a mentally dark path, which could have led to a destructive lifestyle and eventually suicide.
This is a heart-wrenching and eye-opening story in which readers will discover why it is important to grow to love every part of their face and bodies despite what the beauty industry deem as the "perfect" face or facial feature/s. This will also serve as an encouragement for young girls and ladies with similar struggles to learn to adopt an attitude of gratitude, know that their unique attributes serve a greater purpose, and not allow people’s words to shape their perspectives on what beauty looks like. Most importantly, with God being our Creator, they will find HE has not forsaken them, and they can find validation and comfort in Him and be empowered to push past the beauty industry ideals and standards.
The sound of seagulls flying and chirping in the
sky, boats gliding on the picturesque turquoise
waters, frothy waves rolling towards the shoreline,
the fresh smell of the sea-breeze gently blowing in
your face, warm sunshine beating against the skin,
not to mention the tranquility of the atmosphere: All
of these things made island living the perfect place
for a lifestyle of ease and relaxation. In addition, the
absence of modern technology, coupled with the
lack of teenage recreational activities and its moderately
developed state, made island life attractive and
conducive for bearing and rearing children. My early
childhood was spent on Great Abaco Island, one
of the biggest in our Bahamian island chain. Abaco
is the third capital city because it is self-sufficient
and a developing island that contributes greatly to
the country’s overall GDP. The island boast of being
one of the top ten most beautiful beaches in the
world. Other benefits of island living enjoyed by the
locals besides beauty and relaxation were that it was
practically crime-free, and carefree place to enjoy
outdoors. People would leave their homes unlocked
when going on errands or literally sleep with their
doors open back in the 80’s. I lived in Cooperstown,
the northern settlement of the island, where the
population was less than 200 compared to the island’s
overall population, which was a few thousand
(maybe about 10,000-15,000). Everyone was very
religious Christian churchgoers, industrious, neighborly,
and cheerful most of the time. My father and
mother were well-respected in the community. My
father served as youth director for several years and
a musician in the local church and my mother was
an active choir member and involved in other church
initiatives. Whenever people walked by our house,
they would often engage in a quick conversation
with my daddy or if they were in a rush, they simply
greeted him and my mother. Showing courtesy and
being mannerly to people, especially the elderly, was
instilled in children at home and school. These words
resonate with me still: “your attitude determines
your altitude,” or “manners will take you around the
world” and my mother’s favorite, “children obey your
parents in the LORD for this is right.” The popular
saying, “it takes a village to raise a child” was taken
seriously and adults wasted no time doing this. A
child would be scolded or chastised by an unrelated
adult and then by the child’s parents for failing to
show respect. Perhaps they were of the belief that
a child’s poor behavior could be indicative of a dysfunctional
home or lack of good parental skills and
it was an embarrassment to the parents either way.
Therefore, saying “good day,” “please,” “thank you,”
“yes sir/ma’am,” “no sir/ma’am,” having a pleasant
tone when talking with an adult, and being properly
dressed were the order of the day.
My parents were traditional Pentecostal
churchgoing people, who did their best to provide
a stable life that was centered on Biblical teachings
and principles. My father worked as a maintenance
manager and also a small architectural engineer for
tourists wanting to build second homes or cabins
on the outer cays (much smaller islands); and years
later, he would eventually re-engage in construction
work. My mother worked as an executive secretary
for a tourist resort in Treasure Cay, Abaco, before
eventually becoming an administrative secretary at
the administrator’s government office many years
later. We lived on slightly elevated land, which
some would call a hill, in a six-room house that was
reconstructed into a two-story home over a period of
time. I am the last of three girls, but only two of us
lived together on Abaco with our parents for some
years until 1985. My second oldest sister, whom
we affectionately called “Dee,” was more outgoing,
outspoken, and tougher than me. We would spend
many days playing in the yard, writing in the sand,
playing ring around the roses, hopscotch, chasing
butterflies, shooting marbles, and playing jacks.
The latter part of my childhood–preteen years
(1985-1993) was spent on New Providence Island
(where the capital city, Nassau, is located). We moved
there so my mother could find better employment,
but eventually my sister Dee and I would move back
to Abaco (1993-1997).
Whether in Abaco or New Providence, the
name-calling at home usually happened during sibling
rivalries or when I did not follow instructions
properly while doing a chore, and was blurted out
after I had been intensely stared at or had been nagging
them. While living on central New Providence,
my mother and both my sisters and I lived together.
I can’t recount all the circumstances under which I
was called a name nor by whom, but usually it was
as a result of an argument over whose time it was
to wash dishes, throw out garbage, sweep the floor,
or do other chores. On Saturdays, we argued about
who isn’t working enough, or what cartoon to watch,
whose turn it was to clean in or outside mommy’s
car. The constant fighting always was met with negative
remarks being hurled at each other.
A few years would pass and we would eventually
move to the eastern district of New Providence
where we would move rocks and weed the yard of
our new residence until it looked groomed. These
new chores were done mainly on Saturdays and added
to our list of things we argued over. I think one
thing my sisters and I agreed on was that we wished
we had brothers.
My mother would call me a name if she felt
I was not following her instructions or being rude.
Any attempt to dispute her claims was dubbed being
rude and her counter-attack was a name-calling like
“forky teeth girl” or “long-mouthed, big-foot girl
don’t like to listen”. Sometimes while sitting down
watching TV, she would glance at the floor then at
my feet and say “mmm Nad your foot big” or if it’s
my hands, “your hands big aye”. I remember telling
her that my sister Nieka called me big ears, but her
response basically was “so what! big ears mean you
are nice, or you’re a giving person”. Her response to
me being teased about my feet was “if ya feet big they
big.” But I didn’t care about being nice. I cared about
being teased and being normal because my ears were
floppy looking and my feet were not the typical size
for a female. I told my mom only recently that I cried
many nights because of the name-calling I endured
at home and school, and she was shocked. However,
I did not divulge the sadistic self-mutilation and
suicidal thoughts I was having because her response
would not be one of sympathy, but rather indifference.
I believe her response was her way of basically
saying, “don’t be ashamed, own it!” Nowadays, if she
called me big foot or big hands, I would give one of
several responses to her: I would say, “I got it from
my mama”, or “I wear the big stuff well”, “big looks
good on me,” or “God made me grand-style”.
Because we were living on another island from
our daddy, we would visit him in Abaco, during the
summer and after a few weeks, he would send us to
Freeport for the latter part of summer to visit our
paternal grandparents. Summer breaks in Abaco for
the most part were still very quiet, uneventful, and
easy-going just the way we left it in 1985.
For recreation, the children there created their
own fun: swimming by the dock or walking along
the bay, picking sea grapes and coco-plums on the
south side, or playing games like hopscotch, tree
climbing, baseball, and track and field were passtimes
for children. We played with children from the
neighborhood when we weren’t walking down the
road. Sometimes during playtime, whenever there
was squabbling, I tried to avoid getting involved
because I knew children could find creative hurtful
names to spew out during arguments. I am not saying
I was innocent of engaging in childhood arguments
or calling anyone names, but I can’t recall ever
being the first to call any child a name. It was always
my fear that the child I was arguing with would win
because my “sizable” features would make me an easy
target. But of course sometimes children’s disputes
were unavoidable and this fear would become a reality.
When I would have an argument, in the end,
the child would win the verbal fight because I’d run
out of names to call them and I’d be left broken and
crying internally from that point on until morning.
Walking down the road with my aunt to visit her
aunt or friends or purchase goodies (chocolate, candies,
bubblegum, ice cream, cups, baggies) or chicken
and fries was very enjoyable on a hot summer’s day.
We had fun climbing the sugar apple and guava trees
in our yard and usually sat on the rooftop enjoying
our beachfront view.
While in Abaco, daddy made sure the cabinets
were stocked with groceries and snacks. When we
had to remain indoors, my aunt would play horror
movies for us to watch as we ate ham sandwiches,
cheese crackers, chips and other snacks. On Sundays
we would get ready in our Sunday best and walk to
church to attend Sunday school with all the town’s
children. The sunday school teacher would ask us
to recite books of the Bible and Biblical verses. It
was always fun and engaging, but unfortunately, I
could only recite up to the book of Amos in the Old
Testament and then the four Gospels. The children
were very good at reciting from Genesis to Revelation,
and I always wondered how some of them,
especially the kids younger than me, had such vivid
recollection of the order of Holy Scriptures.
On some days, daddy took us fishing on the
rocks or in a boat. But nothing was more gratifying
than when daddy arranged for us to go to Treasure
Island, a tourist resort in Treasure Cay, Abaco. The
best way I could describe Treasure Island is from
a child’s standpoint, it was like a miniature Disney
World. We would get up early to have breakfast at a
nice restaurant and ride on a ferry boat, almost like
a mini cruise ship. There were many fun activities to
do on the resort such as buying treats and food from
merchants, boat riding/racing, kayaking, and banana
boat riding. A visit to the resort would be the climax
of our summer vacation in Abaco. As summertime
was winding down and it was time for us to return to
New Providence for the new school year, there was
always a feeling of melancholy. My sister Dee had
such a hard time leaving my aunt that sometimes
we thought we might miss our flight. Our daddy
made summer vacation worth looking forward to
each year, and our aunt cared for us diligently as if
we were her own children. Oh how we hated the
goodbye waves as we left for the airport.
In 1993-1997, my sister Dee and I moved back
to Abaco to complete junior and senior high school.
There were fairly nice jobs. Many of the residents in
Abaco had good jobs or owned successful businesses
as taxicab drivers, contractors, restauranteurs, or
fishermen, which allowed them and their families to
live comfortable lifestyles. Although the island had
experienced some growth, the cost of living was a bit
higher there than in Nassau.
It was here on Abaco that my attending high
school would prove to be a place I would have to
endure some of the most painful times in the history
of my life. I had no idea that the name-calling would
send me on a downward course of mental anguish
and near self-destruction for almost my entire life.
In hindsight, this may have very well been the reason
why I was suffering from insomnia. These negative
experiences would make me reevaluate the age-old
saying “sticks and stones may break my bones, but
words won’t ever hurt me”. Until I was much more
mature and could critically think on my own, the
“truth” behind this saying seemed blatantly false.
That was a popular line used during disagreements
at playtime, and I didn’t quite understand it then: I
guess it’s because it wasn’t true for me that words
didn’t hurt.
If you’ve been teased or called names by your peers and family while growing up, then you’ll relate to the emotional suffering expressed in this short book. In this memoir, Nadia Major gives a voice to those who develop low self-esteem and suffer in silence because of verbal abuse dressed up as joking and justified as efforts to help you “toughen up”.
She shares about her upbringing in the Bahamas, and the constant teasing and name-calling she endured from her peers and own family. The daily focus on her nose, ears, lips, hands and feet led to self-rejection, a strong desire to “fix” herself to conform to what society considers true beauty.
It is normal to want to look your best, so many will relate to Nadia’s poignant examples of her efforts to improve her looks. However, she came to realize the old saying “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” is a lie. Words hurt. They also leave scars that don’t heal and scabs that can reopen with a single reminder. But what shines through is the power of an individual’s faith that shields you from needless self-destruction.
Nadia divided the book into six chapters. In them, she shares her disturbing fantasies, the pressure to be beautiful, and her journey to self-acceptance. She includes Bible verses that helped her, highlights the danger of bowing to other people’s vision of beauty. She also includes useful links to resources that helped her. The last part of the book includes poetry for “undiscovered beauties” and inspirational poems about how to overcome fear.
What I liked about the book is its relatability. If they don’t judge the book by its cover, then young girls and women of all ages can find hope by walking in her shoes for a short while. They can also find comfort and inspiration by learning from the author's experience. However, the book can benefit from more thorough editing. And it would read better if she wove the section on the pressure by society to be beautiful in her own story. As it stands, this part comes across as an academic thesis you want to skim over.
Overall, this book can serve as a useful reminder for anyone who needs encouragement to celebrate their unique beauty.