Life Is Not a Fairy Tale by Fantasia (e book reader free TXT) 📕

nervousness was a thing of the past. I came away from that meeting thinkin’,“Clive Davis knows what he’s talking about. He has put a lot of people on the map. I respect him. He’s a wise man.”

When I went onAmerican Idol, I wasn’t tryin’ to win. Besides, it’s a pop show and I’m asoul singer. My dream was that one day I would perform in front of thousands of people and I did that. I used to say that all I wanted fromIdol was to get one person to hear me and hook me up. It’s all happening because of God’s grace. That’s the only way to explain it.

MY MOMENT OF

FAITH:WHAT I LEARNED

For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.

EPHESIANS2:8

Whatever you put your mind to, you can do. When you have faith you are not supposed to worry.

When people criticize you, just keep growing and growing regardless of what they say.

You can do anything you want to.

Since they said I couldn’t,I did.

5.Keep

 Your

      Head Up

“You aren’t ugly,Fantasia” is what I tried to tell myself and what I felt God was saying to me deep down in my heart. But I had a hard time listenin’ to Him. Again, I wasn’t lettin’ Him in, which is the reason why I was walking around with my head hung down.

When I was younger, I didn’t listen to my inner voice. I just felt so bad about myself that I couldn’t really hear anything that wasn’t negative, so God’s message of encouragement and love were not getting through. I spent most of my life believin’ I was ugly. I would look in the mirror and see my big ole’ lips, my dark skin, and how skinny I was and that made me miserable most of the time.

To be honest, I have always had low self-esteem. I would look at my flat chest and compare myself to all the other girls and I would kick my clothes across the floor out of my frustration. The frustration inside me felt like something that was going to rupture and make me bust my gut or somethin’. It was a feeling that just wouldn’t go away. I was able to fight this nagging sensation that felt like a pit at the bottom of my stomach when I was with my family or watching TV or singing a song to Zion. Whenever I was with Zion, I always felt like it was all OK. That was the rare time that I was able to keep my head up. Being with Zion let me forget all of my worries and problems. The fact that I never felt like I had enough to give her disappeared when I could see that being with her was what she needed the most. When you are a mother you have an unusual sense of lifelong love that no other relationship can ever beat. Zion looks at me with child’s love, which never ever changes. It is the same way I look at her with mommy’s love. Zion is always a beautiful sight for my tired eyes. She never looks bad to me. When she is crying or sick or swollen or poutin’, she is always beautiful. I feel her looking at me with that same admiration and life-or-death love. Every child thinks that their mommy is beautiful, even if their mommy isme.

I remember those moments when Zion was asleep and I was alone with myself with nothin’ to do. I remember how bad it felt to have this face and these lips and know that they weren’t going anywhere and that I was stuck with them for the rest of my life. These are the times that I hated myself. I didn’t know how I was going to get through this life lookin’ the way I did. When I was in eighth grade, I used to sit in class watching all the pretty girls and not listening to one word that the teacher was saying. I envied those girls because they always got whatever they wanted, or so it seemed. I envied those that light skin and long wavy hair were requirements for happiness and success. There were other pretty girls who didn’t have long hair or light skin in my class, but they had light brown skin like the color of dark coffee with just a little bit of milk thrown in. These girls had pretty perfect white smiles and the brown eyes of angels with long eyelashes. They were pretty girls too, and theystill didn’t look anything like me. I watched the way they moved and the way they picked up their books from their desks and the way they held their books in their arms. I watched the way they picked up their sandwiches and the way they took a bite without getting mayonnaise all over their lips. I memorized the sight of those girls, hoping to become one of them.

What was so frustrating about all of this was that I couldn’t understand why I looked the way that I did. I looked at Mama with child’s love. My mama was beautiful to me. And youknow, I loved my daddy and thought he was the most handsome man in the world. How could Mama and Daddy have made such an ugly girl like me? I wondered. The confusion would bring tears to my eyes. Sometimes my teacher would catch me in my daydream and ask, “Fantasia, why are you crying?” And I would say, “No reason, ma’am, I’m just thinkin’ about some things.” And the teacher would say, “You should be thinkin’ about the test tomorrow.” Then she would say, “Fantasia, open your book to page forty-two, please. We are on the third paragraph.” This embarrassment of being behind in class would give ’em something more to tease me about. It was yet another misunderstanding. I was thinking about something that was important