Like most Afr. American girls, I grew up believing that the closer to "whiteness" you are, the better you are. This was instilled in me through media, books, music, European history, and not surprisingly, other black kids who were undergoing the same brainwashing that's been plaguing our community for 4 centuries. This message was consistently passed down to us, generation after generation like a curse. If I made good grades in school, I was "acting white". If I didn't speak with a twang in my voice, I was "talking white". If I didn't care to wear any of the popular/flashy urban clothes or labels, I was "dressing white". At the time, this meant that I stood out. And I was proud to stand out, because in my mind at the time, I was getting closer to what I thought was "whiteness". I really didn't want to be labeled as "bad", "ghetto", "unruly", or "ratchet" which were common words associated with being black. I was ashamed, and deep down, I wanted to dissociate myself from being Afr. American.
So called, "good hair" was also a commonly used term in my family. When I was a child, almost every female member in my family got perms. Straight/loosely coiled and long hair was encouraged (indirectly). When I was in the 4th grade, I begged my mom for a perm so that my hair can be kink free and smooth like the white girls in school; so that I wouldn't have to wear my hair in braids, bows, and cornrows. I wanted to feel beautiful. And having my hair straightened, made me feel beautiful. It made me feel like I was getting closer to whiteness. But then...
I was bullied. I was called names like "nappy headed" and "ugly". I was still stereotyped by teachers and other adults (black and white) to be a low achiever and a looming statistic. I was still comparing myself to white supermodels and actresses in movies, television, and in magazines. How I felt on the inside, didn't match how I looked on the outside (as crazy as that sounds). Nothing I did, or would do differently, would change the fact that I was a black girl. Almost everything about me, I hated and tried to dissociate myself from it until something happened that I can't quite explain to this day. My mind had slowly started to shift.
June 2006 was the month and year when I made the transition. I was seventeen. One afternoon during that month, I took out my micro-braids. My hair had gotten so damaged from all the perms, relaxers, and heat treatments that I resorted to getting long, micro-braids every 2 to 4 months. I was too ashamed of my damaged hair and had wanted more of my hair to grow out and get longer. At the end of the 3 month mark, I sat on the couch and took out my braids, one by one. Afterwards, my older cousin took me to one of her favorite salons. After getting my hair washed and blow dried, I was tempted to get another perm but I couldn't. My cousin was treating me, because I had no money. And perms were more pricey. Instead, it was suggested by the stylist that my damaged hair be cut and have the rest flat ironed.
I let her do it.
While walking back to the car, all I could think was "How long do I have in this summer heat before my hair turns into a horrible bush?" It eventually did. The remaining two months of summer were a blur. I tried not to look in the mirror. The texture of my hair reminded me of who I was genetically. And it scared me. I was ashamed of it. I didn't feel beautiful. But on the first day of my senior year, I looked into my bedroom mirror and I felt a change. I brushed the front part of my natural hair back with pure H2O and tied it up into a neat afro. That morning, my younger sister asked me "What are you going to do with your HAIR??" And I smugly replied, "Nothing."
The longer I went natural, the more my confidence grew. During my freshman year of college, a man that I was interested in dating asked me, "Why don't you ever wear your hair straight? You're supposed to look like a lady." I was done. And I dedicated a poem just for his response (See it here http://writingisnatural2me.blogspot.com/2012/04/poem-dark-skin-kinky-hair.html). By the summer of 2010, I began my loc journey and I've been continuously loving and growing my kinks ever since. The more I revealed to myself, the true essence of who I was and not hiding it, the more I loved and accepted myself. I got used to myself and I became more familiar with how God originally made me. I didn't feel like a foreign object to myself anymore because of society's standards on beauty and what it considers "good" and "lovely". I am already good and lovely. I am already beautiful, talented, unique, intelligent, and sacred. Not because I'm a black woman, but because of who I am on the inside. My outer appearance is just artwork; a collaboration of gene expression and silencers (for the science geeks).
Some black women fell in love with themselves after achieving great academic success despite their family background of generational low achievement and dropping out. Some black women fell in love with themselves after beating incredible odds with their physical bodies after undergoing a serious illness (or giving birth!). I fell in love with myself after cutting my "straight" hair and allowing my wild, kinky tresses to grow free and uninhibited from what society thinks; a symbolism of my inner growth and self-love. Having natural hair never stopped me from graduating college, getting a corporate career as a scientist, or inhibiting me from romantic relationships. By me accepting me, I gave the world permission to accept me as well. No matter what its response, I can not change my natural design.
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