The internal vs. external struggle
“There is still time to get my hair braided.” I thought. I scrolled through numerous braiders pages, racking my brain to see if I could squeeze in 4 hours in my already full week to get my hair braided before the big day. One of my dearest friends was getting married in less than a week and I had a huge amount of emotional unrest around wearing my hair in all its natural glory.
My hair journey has been a complex one, like most black girls that with grit, poise, and sheer tenacity manage to make it to womanhood. Now in the second (or third) year of having natural hair, there were few settings where I felt uncomfortable to be fully myself: in the world of finance, which is how I support my family, and at special occasions (which had been on an indefinite pause thanks to the year that wasn’t).
Two years ago, I had a wonderful photoshoot with an even more wonderful photographer to support the release of my debut EP, pri.ma.ve.ra. Once the photos arrived my heart sank. “This doesn’t look like me.” My mind chided. Why is it that every black woman needs to conform to society and fit in by straightening their hair? I didn’t want to be another Beyoncé or Rihanna, conforming to the constraints society set to fit in and then share my true self-like I’d envisioned as a child. I wanted to be myself and not worry about my hair getting ruined if I felt like swimming with my friends. So I decided to simply stop. Stop going in for press and curls, stop neglecting my beautiful natural curls, and start learning to care for my hair. This meant learning about its low porosity requirements and giving it what it needed to thrive, practicing patience, and nurturing my self-esteem.
As a child, my hair was so thick that my mom had no clue, time, or patience to deal with it, so my Granny always did my hair. She worked through the coarse caverns and graciously created the most beautiful platts I ever did see. I was always in such awe with her gifts and was so incredibly grateful whenever she would fight through the knots, yelps, and tears to bring me back to black girl hair bliss. Despite this, I never treated my hair very kindly. I resented my hair and always hoped to have those wide bouncy curls, those like my mixed friends were blessed with.
I had a hate-hate relationship with my natural hair, and I counted down the days when I could get as far away from my curls as possible by straightening them away. By the time I was 15 or 16, I was best friends with my flat iron, and longed for the day when I wouldn’t sweat out my hair at a dance party, thereafter crying when trying to press over my puffed up, curly fro filled with sweat, refusing to lay down as it had the first day I left the salon.
Can you do your hair? Because I never really learned to. No one ever really showed me the works. Everyone told me my hair was beautiful but no one really showed me how to deal with it. I also lacked the patience for it, so I always preferred to get it done. The only challenge was that I also lacked the patience to sit in a chair long enough to get it done. Don’t get me wrong, I could sit still, I just hated every moment of it.
So when the opportunity presented itself for me to cut it all off, I did-twice. During the year that wasn’t my hair grew back, and I learned different ways of styling it. I re-coined the usual term “awkward length” as just simply growing and appreciated every phase of my hair climbing back to reach my shoulders. I felt secure, beautiful, and empowered, simply because I was and still am hot shit.
Black Lives Matter picked up significantly the week of my birthday and more and more women started to wear their hair au naturel, and there was more attention on black women in general. Despite my deep grief and sadness at the audacity the country has to devalue people who have shared so much, in terms of my hair journey I felt great, because I felt like I had done it first. Trends fade but authenticity remains.
So fast forward to the second week of June. I am at a standstill, unsure of what to do with my hair. Worried that I will be seen as less beautiful. Considering straightening my hair even though it has not had heat in over two years. You know what I finally decided? To ignore all the internal self-deprecating bs chatter and wear my hair natural. As is, pure and wonderful and real.
I brought my flexi rods to curl my hair and about 20 pounds of hair products so I had enough for the weekend. We arrived and I quickly changed for the Friday evening soirée. I looked so hot. I wish I had a photo. I wore my hair in a half up, half down fro and rocked it out of the park! I played new games, met new friends, and tried a really delicious beer (I am not a drinker). I felt at ease, in my element, and enjoyed the feeling that it could rain and my hair would still be absolutely marvelous. Afterwards, I followed a couple of sweet guys to a dive bar and we got to know each other over drinks and laughs. They invited me the following day to a bnb to crash breakfast and hang out/swim. I gladly accepted.
On the big day, I was a bit hungover and slow to move about. I arrived as the guys were leaving to head to the barbers and went into the home to see what was going on. I hung out, eventually switching into a swimsuit and hanging by the pool. I decided not to swim because the quality of the chlorine could strip my hair, but as everyone was splashing about, diving, and having a great time, I wasn’t worried about my hair being ruined. It was good as it was. Finally, it was time to part ways and I thought about putting my hair into flexi rods upon returning to the hotel “Nope.” my mind quickly chimed in. Well, that was settled. It was a wash n’ go for me. See I’m hair lazy, and hanging by the pool was a much better way to spend my morning than for me to be standing in front of the mirror with my arm half-dead from holding the same upright position for 45 minutes with another hour and a half to go.
After showering and applying products to my curls I got sucked into Law and Order SVU and we left a bit late. We actually arrived at the wedding right at the start time. I somehow forgot when you are not in the wedding party you need to be early. My child glared at me in discontent and we finally found seats just in time for the big moment.
When my dear friend walked down this beautiful corridor with her father and the tears welled up in my eyes. I felt so much love, so much happiness, so much appreciation for her sharing this special moment with me and my mini. I was able to be fully present with her moment and not get swept up in my own story because the day was not about me, it was about love, it was about her, it was about her husband to be, their families joining as one.
For cocktail hour, I was enjoying the event so much I almost forgot to document my hair! I had a dear friend snap a few photos so I could share them with you. See, I gave zero f*#@’s about if people were looking at my hair or not because I was surrounded by innate good and love. When you are around good people, truly positive people you will feel at ease. A challenge of our youth especially as HSP’s is filtering what others comment about you and your appearance, but good people are kind. They won’t say snarky things that cause you to question the good of humanity, they just exist for love.
Thank goodness I escaped my head. Thank goodness I wore my hair natural. Thank goodness I felt confident in my own body. Thank goodness I didn’t let my hair hold me back. If there is one thing I hope you take away from reading this, it is the fact that we all have insecurities, and it is okay if it takes some time to be comfortable in your own hair/skin/body.
That wedding night was one of the best days of my life. Accepting my hair was like finding a missing puzzle piece that has been lost in the crevice of your couch. It seems June brought me many best days of my life. This is such a momentous year and I am filled with love and gratitude that I am granted more time to experience life as we know it.
Sending you love and light.
Heart emoji,
Serah