The relationship I have with my hair is similar to that of an adolescent girl with her high school sweetheart. At times, it has been so ridiculously complex that I’m shocked we’re still together. Because of it, I’ve had to deal with bad-mouthing, pesky relatives and friends who feel the need to give their input, and resort to advice from my mom when there was nothing else I could do.

I first fell in love with my hair when I was about six. It was the first time my mom had ever taken me to a salon and I was ecstatic. She told me, “a woman’s hair is her crown and glory” (a motto she has repeated an uncountable amount of times in my lifetime) and that I should start learning how to take care of my hair now. I sat anxiously at the shampoo bowl while the hairdresser washed and conditioned my hair. We sat in the salon for hours as I listened to her and my mother discuss the latest news and other topics which my little girl ears were too underdeveloped to understand. When the hairdresser had finished working her magic in my head, my unprocessed, virgin hair blew in the wind like daisy, or one of those flowers we used to make wishes on. She had put little ringlets all over my head that bounced when I walked and shook when my head twirled. It was the first time I remember ever realizing my hair had the power to do something like it. She spun me around in the chair and it was love at first sight.

 Me rockin my natural hair at a young age (middle)

Fast forward to a year and a half later: the second grade. It was my first day at Paul Road Elementary School in Rochester, New York. I remember I had on a yellow dress and my mom had put twists in my hair that were secured at the top with little ballies. I was so proud of my appearance that day and couldn’t wait to meet new friends. After putting my things in my cubbie, the teacher called us all to the mat. I walked over excited to see a few girls who looked like me…or at least I thought. No sooner than I sat down at the mat, one of the girls looked at me and said “Who does she think she is with her long hair and high ponytails?” My tiny heart sunk instantly. It was obvious that I was like them, but I wasn’t. Something about the way my hair looked made me “less black” than them.

I don’t remember whether or not I told my mom that story or not, but the following summer, I received my first relaxer. She said my hair had become too thick to deal with and that was the only way she’d be able to maintain it. I was finding out that the hair I thought was so perfect was only perfect to me. If it didn’t look how someone else wanted it to look, it wasn’t ok. It had to be changed, altered. I started to feel resentment for it and the only reason it stayed primped was because my mother thought it should.

I received relaxers from the second grade all the way up until the eighth when I really started getting into basketball. Prior to that, my mother had never let me put extensions in my hair. She said I didn’t need them because my hair was already long and thick enough. I guess she gave up when she realized that no amount of heat would keep it straight after a rigorous practice. Regardless of how much basketball I played, though, it was still important to my mom that I keep my hair done (as per her motto). The summer after eighth grade I began getting braids. All types of braids…box braids, cornrows, micros…you name it, I’ve worn it. I liked the braids. They didn’t require as much maintenance. I didn’t have to wash my hair as often and after a basketball game or practice, my scalp didn’t feel as gross. Additionaly, they felt more like me. I felt like I could look in the mirror and identify with who I saw. My hair wasn’t straight and flowing and it wasn’t supposed to me. That’s not how it grew out of my head, so why should I take it through all of that work to be something it wasn’t?

After I got my first taste of braids, I decided to go natural. I had seen so many women in my church with natural hair and I loved the look. It was one I could identify with. I started to grow out my relaxer and my hair finally felt healthy. Once sweet sixteens and high school formals started to approach, though, I saw all of my friends with straight hair and felt the need to fit in. I fell into the trap and had my hair relaxed. It felt dirty and after one relaxer, I decided that’s not what I wanted to do any longer. It was back to natural for me.

I stayed natural for quite a few years and I loved my hair and it loved me. I had regained the sensation I felt when I first sat in the salon chair all those years ago.  It could do almost anything I wanted wit my hair in its natural state. I could press it (with the help of a hot comb of course), twist it, braid it, blow dry it, wear braids…whatever. And all without having to chemically process it. The only problem was, I actually had to do it. So, against my better judgment, I decided to put my hair through something else: a texturizer.

I decided that after my freshman year of college it was time for a new look. I had grown and changed so much, that my hair needed to change with me. I went to the salon close to my house and had my faithful hairdresser texturize it, this way I could get the best of both worlds with the least amount of work. I could wear it straight or curly and the most I’d have to do would be to put a little product in it. I liked the new look, but after I few weeks, I decided it wasn’t enough. When I got to school, I had my stylist cut and dye it two different shades for me. I loved it. I sported the look for about three months until my hair had decided it had had enough.

It was tired of my unfaithful ways and began to fall out. That’s right: my hair was shedding like crazy. I had no choice but to grow out both my color AND the texturizer. For a while, I was distraught, but once my hair was au natural, I realized that’s how it should have been all along.

I’ve been natural for about a year and a half now. My hair and I still go through tough times, but it’s all in my head. From time to time, I still try new things, but I doubt I’ll ever put my hair through something so drastic again. I refuse to let what others say or think shape the way I treat my hair.  Throughout the years, our relationship has grown and matured and we’ve been through way too much for me to give up now.