A part of me

A Part of Me: Embracing My Hair Journey 

Ever heard Chimamanda Adichie say “Black hair is political”? Think about it. Your braids or twists? They're more than just a fashion choice. They're statements. Throughout history, hair has been a battleground for showing cultural pride and pushing back against discrimination. From slavery's forced haircuts to workplace rules banning natural styles, it's been about control. But rocking your natural hair? That's resistance. It's saying 'this is me' in a world that says otherwise. Adichie's right: our hair tells stories beyond looks. It's about identity, belonging, and standing up to norms.

As a child, I despised my hair. It was kinky and curly, the epitome of African hair. Every time I visited the salon, I could see the hairdressers struggling with it. It was difficult to wet, almost impossible to comb or straighten out. I remember one day, overhearing one of them say that my hair was too hard to deal with. At the age of twelve, my cousin and mother suggested that I get my hair relaxed, and without any hesitation, I agreed. This was in 2015, the same year the ‘Teen Beach’ movie was released. I used to watch it and long for the hair of the white actors, believing that if I had hair like theirs, it would be easier to manage. So, when the opportunity presented itself, I jumped at the chance to have my hair relaxed. 

As I progressed into high school, my hair became the subject of admiration for many. Its rich combination of brown and black hues made it stand out in a sea of ordinary hair. I was proud of my relaxed hair and couldn't help but notice the flurry of compliments that came my way. Everywhere I turned, I could hear hushed whispers of people commenting on my hair's beauty, and it made me feel special. It was like a warm shower of compliments that left me feeling noticed and appreciated.

I couldn't help but compare my hair to that of my friends who had naturally beautiful hair. Watching them flaunt their luscious locks effortlessly, I felt a twinge of envy. They were blessed with the hair that I so desperately longed for, while I had to pay a hefty price to get mine. It was ironic how life worked in such mysterious ways.

During a school assembly, the principal stepped up to address the students. Her presence was commanding, but what captured my attention was her hair. It was a magnificent afro that seemed to defy gravity. It was thick and black, with a luscious texture that was impossible to ignore. It was the perfect size, not too big, not too small, but just right. Looking at it was like staring at a cloud that had descended from the heavens and rested on her head. I imagined that if I ran my fingers through it, it would feel like touching soft cotton candy. That's how amazing it looked to me. As I gazed at her, it dawned on me that her hair was the epitome of African afro texture. It was then that I realized that her hair was similar to mine, and I had given up something beautiful while chasing after something that I thought was better for me. My relaxed hair could never form an afro like hers, and I couldn't even run in the rain without it breaking and falling off. I wondered if I had made the right decision.

As I was approaching my high school graduation, I made the bold decision to shave off all my hair. I was filled with fear and anxiety as I had been growing my hair for almost seven years and now it was all gone. The thought of what others would say and how I would look with my natural hair left me feeling uncertain, but I went ahead and did it anyway. I can still remember the shock on my classmates' faces and even my own father's when they saw me without hair. But life went on, and I started wearing my hair in a small afro.

One day, while hanging out with my friend Mitchell, she reached out and touched my hair, telling me how fluffy it was, it felt like a cloud. This compliment made me feel so happy and loved my hair a little bit more.

As time passed, my hair started to grow back, but I still felt insecure whenever I went out without a covering or braids. I would look in the mirror and wonder if I looked good enough and if I should go back to relaxing my hair. But then, as I looked at myself in the salon mirror, I had an epiphany. I realized that my hair, no matter how tough or kinky it may seem, is lovely and an integral part of who I am. The best thing I could do for myself was to accept and love it just the way it is. And so I do love my hair now.

I know that we all have those moments where we do not love how we look. We may feel too tall, too short, have textured skin, be chubby, have long legs, kinky hair, bunny teeth, a huge forehead, and so many other things. But we need to give ourselves some grace and realize that we look good just the way we are. And just like how Mitchell made me feel loved and appreciated, there is someone in our lives who thinks the same of us, but we must first love and appreciate ourselves.

It is indisputable that there is pressure to meet Eurocentric beauty norms. Because "hair is political," as Adichie reminds us, deciding to wear one's hair naturally may be a profound act of cultural pride and self-acceptance. "A Part of Me" serves as a powerful testament to the strength of self-acceptance and the beauty that comes with embracing our true selves, with all our imperfections and idiosyncrasies.