Before I ever questioned my hair, I loved it.
Or maybe… I just didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to.
I was the little Black girl sitting between her mother’s legs, getting her hair greased and parted. I was “tender-headed,” but still—there was something sacred about that moment. My hair was mine. It wasn’t political. It wasn’t too much. It just was.
Then came the perms. The box relaxers. The sizzle. The burn. The praise.
“You look so pretty with your hair straight.”
“You should wear it like that more often.”
And for a while, I did. Because no one taught me how to love my hair as it was. Straight was easier. Straight was manageable. Straight got the compliments. Straight meant I belonged.
But somewhere along the line, I started to ask questions:
- Who taught me that my coils were unprofessional?
- Why did I feel “not ready” if my curls weren’t laid?
- Was I styling my hair for me… or for them?
This is Part 1 of my series, I Am Not My Hair…Or Am I? And this first chapter is about remembering that first version of myself—the girl who didn’t yet know that the world had rules for her crown. The one who loved her hair before the storm.
So let me ask you: What was your crown like before the world tried to tame it?
💭 Share your story with me in the comments or reply to this post.
📌 Stay tuned for Part 2: “Is This for Me or Them?” Subscribe so you don’t miss it!
