Did She Go There Already?!

Shock! Panic! Horror!

At 37 years old, I've just been through the amazing process of rediscovering my natural hair. You can't imagine what I felt tonight when my nine year old daughter tells me that she would like to try wearing her hair straight.

Before I went through this process, there were times I contemplated getting her hair texturized -- which is to say "slightly relaxed" -- a "kiddy perm" to make it easier to manage. I remember what it was like to be her age and to dread combing through my hair after having it washed. I've tried to make the experience easier for her. At the same time, she's my child and I want to protect her.

My rational mind knows this is a minor issue. It's only hair. It's normal for her to want to try something new; especially having seen me for years with relaxed straightened hair.

The idea seems a little less horrifying now that she's asleep and I've had some time to think about it. We could try straightening her hair for a special occasion. She's due for a trim soon.

She did make an important distinction: she would like to try straightening her hair -- not relaxing it.

Charting Virgin Territory

This is me, December 2010; hair freshly relaxed.

I’ve written the first entry for this blog countless times in my head. It usually starts with a question: Why would I do this?

My personal journey toward natural hair has been in the making, if only on my mind, for years. Saying “I recently found the courage to go natural” sounds silly at first but, if we’re honest with ourselves, we’ve all been afraid to be ourselves at one point or another. Fear of ridicule or rejection is something a lot of us have lived with, but we think that we’re passed that because we’ve grown up, lost weight, had our ears pinned, or covered up that thing we used to be teased about when we were younger.

My truth is that I won’t outgrow that fear until I’ve learned to accept myself for what I really am. Ask anyone who knew me in school, and I was the girl with the big hair. In elementary school, I had puffy braids. In middle school, it was big Texas hair (courtesy of foam rollers). By high school, I had a relaxer, discovered hot rollers, and you couldn’t tell me anything.

Kidding aside, I was always self-conscious about my hair. I couldn’t control it. It made me different. Now, I’m a mother of three little girls: each with a different hair color and texture. A day doesn’t go by when I don’t tell them how pretty their curls are, or how their hair makes them unique. Those are wonderful and encouraging words to tell them, but what message to they get when they look at my hair?

I’ve found the courage to start this journey now because I realize through my words and deeds, I’m shaping my daughters’ perceptions.

It’s time for this mutha to walk the walk – not just talk the talk.