On my 20th birthday I had my mom chop off all of my chemically straightened hair, leaving roughly an inch of tight 4a/4b type curls. While she was cutting she pointed out the chemical burns on the nape of my neck, the same burns that my best friend, Rachel, noticed months earlier. I had never seen them of course. But as she ran her cold fingers up my neck asking "What's that?" I remembered the feeling of the chemical burn from months ago. I was relaxing my hair in my dorm room while studying and had let the chemicals stay in too long. My whole scalp and the nape of my neck had weepy wounds and was scabbed for weeks.
Rachel was dumbfounded when I told her. She didn't understand why I couldn't just wear my hair naturally. "It's ugly, it's dry and nappy, and I don't like it," I said to her. Really, it was that I simply didn't know my hair. My hair was straightened regularly from a very young age. I remember getting that very first perm by my mom in Nanny's kitchen. The pungent fragrance wafting from my hair and filling the room with chemical vapors. Scalp tingling, body fidgeting. After that, my hair was always a problem. Before then, I never really thought about my hair. I had a full mane of thick dark kinky curls that grew freely, but no one knew what to do with it. I was a nappy-headed girl.
Because my hair was now supposed to be straight, it was also supposed to grow long and behave like the hair did on white girls' heads, but it never did. It would get to my shoulders then break off. My hair was always dry. It was never supposed to get wet except on wash days, otherwise my mom would have to straighten it with a curling iron again (heat straightening chemically-straightened hair is ridiculous and extremely redundant). I didn't understand why my hair wouldn't grow. And I would see other black girls with relaxed hair dealing with the same problems. Dry, brittle, broken hair. I began to believe that black girls couldn't have nice hair, that it would never grow past my shoulders, which I now know is a lie. I began feeling insecure about my hair, especially since most women, even women of color in pop culture and the media either are ethnically European or wear euro centric hairstyles. As an alternative, I loved and still love wearing extensions occasionally, but the long-term side effects - scalp alopecia and premature balding - were very disconcerting.
So I decided to chop it all off. I was angry. I had been straightening and hiding my hair for so long, that I didn't even remember what my natural hair was like anymore. Since then, leading a more natural way of life has become one of my goals. It has meant, eating more organically, using safer, healthier environmentally friendly products, and leading a greener lifestyle. It has meant being a more honest and authentic individual. It has meant being more true to myself. Who knew that making such a decision could have such a large impact? It certainly has been a journey (I'm still learning about the nature of my hair four years later), and it's a journey that more and more black women are deciding to take, thankfully. There is a growing community of women out there, who are becoming more educated about our type of hair, rewiring their minds to love and accept the beautiful curly tendrils that they were born with, and raising their children to do the same.
It is Mother's Day and I would like to thank my mom for being there for me throughout the whole process of learning to love and accept my hair, and in turn learning to be more loving and accepting of my self.
This was not what I had in mind for my welcome posting but I found this awesome video on YouTube.com. I'm so glad it's there now for little afrobellas to see. I wish it had been when I was younger. Check it out.
Cute, huh?!
Welcome to Dove's Song! :-)
Rachel was dumbfounded when I told her. She didn't understand why I couldn't just wear my hair naturally. "It's ugly, it's dry and nappy, and I don't like it," I said to her. Really, it was that I simply didn't know my hair. My hair was straightened regularly from a very young age. I remember getting that very first perm by my mom in Nanny's kitchen. The pungent fragrance wafting from my hair and filling the room with chemical vapors. Scalp tingling, body fidgeting. After that, my hair was always a problem. Before then, I never really thought about my hair. I had a full mane of thick dark kinky curls that grew freely, but no one knew what to do with it. I was a nappy-headed girl.
Because my hair was now supposed to be straight, it was also supposed to grow long and behave like the hair did on white girls' heads, but it never did. It would get to my shoulders then break off. My hair was always dry. It was never supposed to get wet except on wash days, otherwise my mom would have to straighten it with a curling iron again (heat straightening chemically-straightened hair is ridiculous and extremely redundant). I didn't understand why my hair wouldn't grow. And I would see other black girls with relaxed hair dealing with the same problems. Dry, brittle, broken hair. I began to believe that black girls couldn't have nice hair, that it would never grow past my shoulders, which I now know is a lie. I began feeling insecure about my hair, especially since most women, even women of color in pop culture and the media either are ethnically European or wear euro centric hairstyles. As an alternative, I loved and still love wearing extensions occasionally, but the long-term side effects - scalp alopecia and premature balding - were very disconcerting.
So I decided to chop it all off. I was angry. I had been straightening and hiding my hair for so long, that I didn't even remember what my natural hair was like anymore. Since then, leading a more natural way of life has become one of my goals. It has meant, eating more organically, using safer, healthier environmentally friendly products, and leading a greener lifestyle. It has meant being a more honest and authentic individual. It has meant being more true to myself. Who knew that making such a decision could have such a large impact? It certainly has been a journey (I'm still learning about the nature of my hair four years later), and it's a journey that more and more black women are deciding to take, thankfully. There is a growing community of women out there, who are becoming more educated about our type of hair, rewiring their minds to love and accept the beautiful curly tendrils that they were born with, and raising their children to do the same.
It is Mother's Day and I would like to thank my mom for being there for me throughout the whole process of learning to love and accept my hair, and in turn learning to be more loving and accepting of my self.
This was not what I had in mind for my welcome posting but I found this awesome video on YouTube.com. I'm so glad it's there now for little afrobellas to see. I wish it had been when I was younger. Check it out.
Cute, huh?!
Welcome to Dove's Song! :-)
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