Being Mrs. Marshall

Memoir of a Saved Plus-Sized Sister

By Kamane' Malvo

Growing up middle class in a loving home with church on Sundays and 'slap your momma down' soul food, I dreamed of marrying a man like my father who was not only a good provider, but also genuinely loved and respected my mother as his queen.   

When it was time for me to settle down and get serious about who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, I had no idea that the pool of potential suitors would be null and void.

I was a full-figured black woman living in America and the love and worship of all things blonde and thin amongst my peer group had black men dating white women exclusively. 

As a thirty-year-old single female, the likelihood of finding a God-fearing man, who was employed, childless, and lacking in the area of street credit, sex addiction, and major psychological disorders was as slim as a model in Vogue.  If I factored in the color of his skin as apart of my criteria, I wouldn't hear wedding bells until the second coming.

I opened myself up to the possibility of being in a meaningful relationship with someone who was not black when I went to a singles dance and all of the men who interacted with me lacked melanin.   Those who were from my side of the equator interacted with women who were blonde and thin and I being the exact opposite was completely ignored. 

When I met my husband, I was pretty sure that he would be in my life for a long time because he was a gentleman who wasn't blatantly trying to pitch tents and houses inside my panties.  When it came to children, and marriage, we believed in taking the traditional route with marriage first and children second.  Our past failed relationships were learning experiences and therefore the possibility of a fairytale romance was still a possibility for us.

As our relationship progressed, my love for him only intensified.  He was a good communicator who wasn't afraid to show his vulnerability or demonstrate his love for me outside of the bedroom.  Being on his own since he was sixteen made him a resourceful fighter who was independent, confident, and strong.  He possessed an incredible passion for life and doing the right thing was just as important to him as achieving his dreams. 

The passion between us was intoxicating.  He put the ‘R’ in romance and the sincere intensity of his love made me want to climb Mount Everest buck-naked screaming Shakespearean sonnets into the celestial sky. 

While certain family members argue that growing up in a predominately white suburb somehow skewed my preference for potential suitors to those of a lighter complexion, at the age of thirty-two I married a white man because he was my exact match in all the areas that mattered.  I could care less about the color of his skin.  What attracted me to him was his heart.

Our love affair challenges people's perception of what true love is because American socialization perpetuates the opposite.  When we walk into the room hand in hand, as a plus-sized black woman and an average-sized white man, we are the melting pot personified and although we currently exist in a time where interracial marriage is no longer illegal, the same divisive spirit of racism, prejudice, and discrimination still pulsate within the undercurrent of our society. 

Everywhere we go we experience somebody's obvious discomfort with our union.  Ironically, we receive the most confrontational disdain from black men.  Since the likelihood of a black man dating outside of his race in comparison to a black woman is statistically lopsided, I find this to be rather interesting.  While sisters are still holding on to the idea that their Mr. Right has to be a black man or no man at all, black men have been experimenting with women outside of their race for years. 

It's okay for them to do it but when we follow suit, suddenly we are selling out.

I experienced this double standard first hand when my husband and I were out shopping and a black man who was with a white woman, looked at my husband and me like we were dancing a jig similar to a Pentecostal preacher in the middle of Wal Mart.  

Regardless of the color of his skin, my husband is my prayer to God answered.  And there is nothing and no one that will ever make me feel that what we have is anything but a blessing from the heart of heaven.  Although we did not do everything entirely textbook Christian, our relationship is God's love personified.  We are able to love each other without judgment.  We accept each other just as we are including those areas that are still works in progress.

I prayed for a good God-fearing man and that's exactly who sits at my dinner table every night, helps me pay the bills, and makes me feel like the sexiest woman alive. 

Ultimately, what matters most to my husband and me is the relationship that we share as man and wife.  We have a healthy, loving, and passionate marriage and that has absolutely nothing to do with pigmentation and everything to do with the fact that we are willing to do the work to keep our relationship at its best.  

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About the Author: Kamane Malvo Marshall is a newlywed with a new found wisdom about love, life, and spirituality.  As a promoter of size acceptance, her boldness and honesty encourages women to be empowered to love themselves just as they are.  Kamane's publications include Small World Newsletter, Double Dare Press, BlackMarket.com, Betty Magazine, The Sacramento Observer, San Francisco Independent, and The Pioneer Newspaper.  She is currently working on a novel.  She maybe contacted at kamanemarshall@live.com .

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