Learning to Love My Natural Hair

Around this time last year I made the decision to stop relaxing my hair. I had already gone two months without a relaxer, and the curly roots were forming a fluffy little cushion atop my head.

“What are you going to do?” I asked myself when I looked in the mirror. “Meh. I’ll just wait another week.”

As the weeks went on, I caught myself idly running my fingers through my roots, curious as to what my hair would look like if I had let it grow.

Going Straight

In middle school I went from thick, chunky braids and plastic baubles to silky, straight hair. My mother and sister had always done my hair. I was tired of it and I’m sure they were, too. At 12, it didn’t seem like an issue of if I would straighten my hair, but when.

The last straw was when my sister decided to experiment. One day I went to school looking like a jacked-up Da Brat before Funkdafied hit it big. I remember walking down the hall. The crowds parted just in time for a group of cool kids to point and laugh. Loudly. I wanted to melt into the wall. (My sister calls this episode a character builder, by the way.)

Relaxing my hair was an issue of independence and conformity. I could control my personal style, plus I could try those hairdos in Seventeen or try to look fly like En Vogue.

What you need to do is go in the back and straighten out them buckshots. Girl, your hair is so nappy, Wilson couldn’t pick it.” – “Martin

Nah, I Want My Curls Back

Eighteen years later, all I wanted was my curly hair. I was tired of going to the salon and spending money each month; tired of chemicals that would burn my scalp; tired of thinking about my hair when it rained, when I went to the beach, when I exercised, when I went on vacation. It was time for a change.

I talked with women who had made the switch back to their natural hair. I decided to transition, growing out my hair instead of cutting it all at once. I had to relearn how to care for my hair.

There are YouTube communities and websites, such as Curly Nikki and Black Girl with Long Hair. More products geared toward natural hair have hit the store shelves, and recipes for homemade concoctions proliferate online.

My mom, who has naturally long, straight hair, was suspect. To her, I was gonna cut my hair like a boy and I was 30 and it was about time for me to find a man and give her some grandchildren and I better not be ruining my prospects because she only has one grandchild and I’m 30 and dying alone is awful.

“No, mom, I’m not going to look like a boy. Leave me alone.”

To Hell with It: Just Cut It Off

After nine months I had the big chop, cutting off my last four inches of straight hair. I sat in the barber’s chair, trying to stifle the big grin creeping up on my face.

A few months have passed, and I’m still growing my fro. I don’t miss my straight hair. I’m content to wash and go in the morning, and I know that I can flat iron if I get nostalgic. Plus there’s so many other styles I can do now.

I also noticed, oddly enough, that I’m way less self-conscious. I let my hair do what it’s supposed to, and it takes up less space in my psyche. Imagine that!

The Kinder, Kinkier Me

I’m not going into the politics of black hair (I’ll leave that to Melissa Harris-Perry). But I will say that going natural has made me look at myself in a different light.

Those trips to the salon underscored that something needed fixing. It wasn’t “Yay, I’m getting done up!” It was more like, “Welp, gotta tame those naps.” It was a chore. It wasn’t coming from a good place.

Going through this process, I’ve become kinder in the way I view myself in general and kinder in my internal dialogue. My hair has gone back to just being, and so have I.