WYSIWYG
Well-Known Member
My whole life I was shamed for my hair’s natural texture. My younger sister has what was called “good hair” while my super-tight, fine coils were ridiculed by family and classmates (and the occasional ignorant adult). From age three, I was trained to the idea that stepping outside of the house with my natural hair texture was as crazy as walking outside in my underwear. No one besides my mother was to ever see the way God made me.
Before age 12, my pigtails and buns disguised my hair’s texture well enough, but from 7th grade on, that look was too childish and I wanted to be like my peers With the nice press and curl styles. My home state is very humid (and now I understand that my hair is high porosity), so I could suffer the weekly hot comb, step outside on a foggy/rainy/otherwise humid day, and BOOM! I was back to square one. One lonely raindrop in the next county over could give me an instant Afro, and that was not the style in my hometown. In my predominately white high school, one of our handful of back girls would call me Kizzy (Kunta Kinte’s daughter in Roots) when my hair would inevitably revert. I had a lot of shame heaped on me for my hair. People would actually look at my sister’s long pigtails, look at my wild, poofy cloud and ask, “What happened to YOU?!”
Before I left home for college, I finally got my most fervent wish: a relaxer. I now felt like I fit in, although my hair would mysteriously break off after each touch up, leaving my now acceptably smooth hair to languish at neck-length for the next decade and a half. Then I got into weaves, and my whole world changed. I went from merely “pretty” to being called “beautiful.” On some level, it was damaging to my spirit that the act of burning my scalp up every few weeks and wearing another woman’s hair on my head was an integral part of my identity. I loved the way I looked, but hated how I felt about what lay under the weave.
*** Please don’t think I’m diminishing you lovlies who wear weaves as a protective style while you care for your own hair, or those who like the look of straight hair as a change of pace. I was ASHAMED of my hair, so every thing I did to it came from an unhealthy mindset. I wasn’t honoring my tresses with protection or celebrating it with adornment. I was PUNISHING what grew out of my scalp and hiding my shame. ***
In my mid-thirties I finally had enough. I was given chemical burns once too-often by a stylist with jack-up hair of her own so I started transitioning, and got more weaves with no leave-out. One day, I started having nightmares about women who cut off their long hair to sell it for food, shelter and survival. I woke up feeling like I was literally wearing another woman’s misery on my head and decided I didn’t want that energy on me anymore. I told my husband what I planned to do and he said “Good!” He was tired of seeing my tears after horrible salon visits and not being able to touch my hair.
Well, I poured myself a glass of wine and cut out the weave. I found that I had 6 months of new growth attached to several inches of see-through relaxed ends. I flat ironed my “‘fro with stringy wisps” and enjoyed skinny, should-length hair until breakage at the line of demarcation became unbearable and I did the Big Chop. I found LHCF via Google and began my journey to healthy hair. I learned about the science of Black hair. I learned about oils, butters, herbs and other ingredients. I found Ayurveda and saved so much money while my tresses flourished. Instead of wearing some poor Indian girls’ hair on my head, I was growing my own hair, using their methods. That was many years ago, and I’ve had victories and a few setbacks, but I’ve stayed the course.
Last Spring, I went to church in my hometown for the first time in many years and realized that I was the only one older than 12 who was wearing her own hair. Woman who had snickered at my TWA or swore that my husband would dump me with “that mess on my head” were now complimenting me. My husband smiled big and said it’s nice to be able to touch his wife’s hair whenever he wants.
My hair is nowhere as long as some of you ladies here, but it’s healthy, strong, and ALL MINE. The longer it gets, the easier it is to throw into a ponytail or bun when I’m in a rush. I feel supremely feminine when I flip my hair over my shoulder. My husband enjoys having sexy time with his hands in my hair... This is my wonderful life at merely APL!
I can’t wait to see how much longer I can grow, but I make sure to give Praise and Thanks for the hair the Lord has given me so far, because why would He bless me with more if I don’t appreciate what He has given me already? I’m thankful for the education I’ve gotten here and the guidance of you ladies. I’m thankful for pictures of healthy, pretty, hair growing from the scalps of melanated beauties of every shade and hue. I’m thankful for learning patience and consistency — if I’m lucky, time will pass regardless, so I might as well take action today instead of coveting someone else’s hair while doing nothing for my own.
If you’re at the beginning of your healthy hair journey or recovering from a setback, take heart. Love your hair at whatever stage it’s in. Continue learning. Treat each strand with care. Treat yourself with compassion - the world is already unkind enough to women of color. Give thanks for what you have and encourage others to love and care for their own locks instead of being envious of yours.
Thanks for letting me share. Bless you all!
Before age 12, my pigtails and buns disguised my hair’s texture well enough, but from 7th grade on, that look was too childish and I wanted to be like my peers With the nice press and curl styles. My home state is very humid (and now I understand that my hair is high porosity), so I could suffer the weekly hot comb, step outside on a foggy/rainy/otherwise humid day, and BOOM! I was back to square one. One lonely raindrop in the next county over could give me an instant Afro, and that was not the style in my hometown. In my predominately white high school, one of our handful of back girls would call me Kizzy (Kunta Kinte’s daughter in Roots) when my hair would inevitably revert. I had a lot of shame heaped on me for my hair. People would actually look at my sister’s long pigtails, look at my wild, poofy cloud and ask, “What happened to YOU?!”
Before I left home for college, I finally got my most fervent wish: a relaxer. I now felt like I fit in, although my hair would mysteriously break off after each touch up, leaving my now acceptably smooth hair to languish at neck-length for the next decade and a half. Then I got into weaves, and my whole world changed. I went from merely “pretty” to being called “beautiful.” On some level, it was damaging to my spirit that the act of burning my scalp up every few weeks and wearing another woman’s hair on my head was an integral part of my identity. I loved the way I looked, but hated how I felt about what lay under the weave.
*** Please don’t think I’m diminishing you lovlies who wear weaves as a protective style while you care for your own hair, or those who like the look of straight hair as a change of pace. I was ASHAMED of my hair, so every thing I did to it came from an unhealthy mindset. I wasn’t honoring my tresses with protection or celebrating it with adornment. I was PUNISHING what grew out of my scalp and hiding my shame. ***
In my mid-thirties I finally had enough. I was given chemical burns once too-often by a stylist with jack-up hair of her own so I started transitioning, and got more weaves with no leave-out. One day, I started having nightmares about women who cut off their long hair to sell it for food, shelter and survival. I woke up feeling like I was literally wearing another woman’s misery on my head and decided I didn’t want that energy on me anymore. I told my husband what I planned to do and he said “Good!” He was tired of seeing my tears after horrible salon visits and not being able to touch my hair.
Well, I poured myself a glass of wine and cut out the weave. I found that I had 6 months of new growth attached to several inches of see-through relaxed ends. I flat ironed my “‘fro with stringy wisps” and enjoyed skinny, should-length hair until breakage at the line of demarcation became unbearable and I did the Big Chop. I found LHCF via Google and began my journey to healthy hair. I learned about the science of Black hair. I learned about oils, butters, herbs and other ingredients. I found Ayurveda and saved so much money while my tresses flourished. Instead of wearing some poor Indian girls’ hair on my head, I was growing my own hair, using their methods. That was many years ago, and I’ve had victories and a few setbacks, but I’ve stayed the course.
Last Spring, I went to church in my hometown for the first time in many years and realized that I was the only one older than 12 who was wearing her own hair. Woman who had snickered at my TWA or swore that my husband would dump me with “that mess on my head” were now complimenting me. My husband smiled big and said it’s nice to be able to touch his wife’s hair whenever he wants.
My hair is nowhere as long as some of you ladies here, but it’s healthy, strong, and ALL MINE. The longer it gets, the easier it is to throw into a ponytail or bun when I’m in a rush. I feel supremely feminine when I flip my hair over my shoulder. My husband enjoys having sexy time with his hands in my hair... This is my wonderful life at merely APL!
I can’t wait to see how much longer I can grow, but I make sure to give Praise and Thanks for the hair the Lord has given me so far, because why would He bless me with more if I don’t appreciate what He has given me already? I’m thankful for the education I’ve gotten here and the guidance of you ladies. I’m thankful for pictures of healthy, pretty, hair growing from the scalps of melanated beauties of every shade and hue. I’m thankful for learning patience and consistency — if I’m lucky, time will pass regardless, so I might as well take action today instead of coveting someone else’s hair while doing nothing for my own.
If you’re at the beginning of your healthy hair journey or recovering from a setback, take heart. Love your hair at whatever stage it’s in. Continue learning. Treat each strand with care. Treat yourself with compassion - the world is already unkind enough to women of color. Give thanks for what you have and encourage others to love and care for their own locks instead of being envious of yours.
Thanks for letting me share. Bless you all!
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