Danielle Todd

[1998. I absolutely love this photo of myself (far right), my dad and sister Simone in the park. I love this photo because it is so soft, my dad’s protection and affection in the photo makes my heart warm. It reminds me that I’m loved and protected no matter what age I am.]

1995 | Northampton, UK | Irish & Jamaican

I can still vividly remember how hours of my youth were spent in the bath, wincing at what seemed like the worst pain I would ever experience. Unwillingly having my tight, unruly curls combed out by my mum is something I will never be able to forget. This memory reminds me that I have always viewed my hair as complex, akin to my mixed identity. 

I grew up in Northampton on a small council estate with my mum and sister and attended a primary school where ethnic diversity was profound. My mixture of friends both in and out of school resembled a wonderful melting pot of ethnicities. Small and carefree, I was unaware that I was somewhat ‘different’. At the age of 8, it was decided that I would move schools due to relocating homes in Northampton. Upon moving to a suburban setting and a white middle class primary school, the locks that grew wildly out of my head were no longer considered to be ‘normal’. My hair which was once described as pretty, was now viewed as unfamiliar and foremost undesirable. Through tears of frustration I would attempt for the umpteenth time to replicate a style that one of my friends had worn in school. I would wish that my hair was long, blonde and straight so I could fit in with the girls that I knew, and more importantly mirror the faces that gazed back at me from different media outlets. Not long out of primary school, I experienced my first hair relaxer (a chemical process which alters hair texture). This decision for change would mark the beginning of my exhausting journey to dampen my reality of being ‘different’. My bone straight hair gave me a new boost of confidence. With this hair I looked like my peers, so to me that meant that I was more likely to feel like I belonged, right? I gained more attention from the opposite sex which ultimately lead me to believe that straight hair equated to beauty and attractiveness. I was obliviously adhering to Eurocentric beauty standards and denying my natural ‘black’ features.

Up until my teenage years I often felt pressured to ‘pick a side’ by people who were monoracial but being mixed race is not about choosing a side. I remember analysing the poem ‘Half – Caste’ by John Agard in secondary school. My ability to relate to this poem made me want to bang on the desk and shout ‘PLEASE TAKE NOTICE’. It was the first time I had heard another account from a mixed-race person outside of my personal sphere being viewed as half of something. Looking back on this poem recently I think what resonates with me the most is Agard’s unapologetic, sarcastic display of dismantling the derogatory stand point that being mixed race is a simple matter of being either black or white when they of course coincide. This poem ignited hope; I wanted the words to sink deep into other ears and minds around me. Being raised in a mixed family has allowed me to experience two different cultures and incorporate them into piecing together my identity. Instead of ‘picking a side’ which is encouraged, I’ve had the opportunity to intertwine the two. I feel thankful to have a variation of attributes that shape me. Let us mixed folk be perfectly fluid in peace.

 Self-acceptance is a lengthy journey with a moving finish line, somewhat like a mirage. However, as I dive deeper, I find the more content I am within myself. I’m still actively learning about my heritage. As I’ve gotten older I’m more interested and curious about the foundations my family are built on. I’m very close with my Irish grandmother and have visited her home country numerous times. I’m thankful that I always have had this charismatic woman by my side to tell me why I should be proud of the Irish blood that swims through my veins. Mostly I’m proud to be Irish because of her. She has taught me strength, determination and unbeatable craic. I feel blessed to come from strong immigrants, immigrants who strived for better despite being made to feel unwelcome in a land which is ‘United.’

The Jamaican side of my family resided in England until I was about 6 years old, sadly I can only recollect small memories of spending time with them. Nevertheless, my grandad tends to visit once a year, so I take this time to cram in as many questions as possible regarding the Jamaican side of my family. In October 2019 I made my first trip to Jamaica to visit family, some of which I met for the first time. Being welcomed with excitement made me feel like I was home. I learnt of traditions, stories of my grandparents and ate up the culture. Experiencing another part of my roots watered my growth within understanding my identity. It’s as though a piece had been missing before, as I’d never experienced that side of my family in so much depth. After that trip things made more sense, I made more sense. I am more at peace with my identity than I ever have been. Honestly, Jamaica has my heart. 

If I could give my younger self any advice it would be not to not feel like fitting in is a must. Be interested in the things that bring you joy, listen to what you like and dress how you wish to. Something else I would tell my younger self and will be repeating to my children, is that European features are not the epitome of beauty. Beauty comes in all forms and accepting yourself comes with time. Those features that sit upon your face were gifted to you by generations before you, you will learn to love them. I must admit it’s taken a long time to learn this advice and be unapologetically me. I strongly believe that representation is key. With representation we learn that we’re not alone. We learn that we don’t need to morph ourselves into a shape that we don’t fit. As minorities it’s important that we do what we can to make our voices heard. Sharing our stories will contribute to others learning. Sharing our stories will make us better understood. Sharing our stories will help us grow.

[2017. This is at my graduation and it shows the three people who raised me, my parents. It’s not often that I get a photo opportunity with the three of them, so this is why this picture is so special to me.]