#breakingthechains

I was five-years-old when my mom first relaxed my hair. I. Didn't. Have. A. CHOICE. "No tengo tiempo para bregar con su pajón," she told the Dominican hairdresser when she told my mom I was too young to have my hair relaxed. “Los desrizados tienen mucha químicas,” she said. Grant it, I was her only girl-and child #4. She'd been dying for a girl after having three boys back to back, but didn't count on my curly thick coils being part of that desire to have a girl. I guess she was banking on a baby girl with straight fine hair. "Pelo malo" or “bad hair” is what she and my entire family would call it. I was seven-years-old when she cut my hair into a teeny weeny fro. I was DEVASTATED! "No tengo tiempo para bregar con tu pajón," was her response when I begged her not to cut it. You see, I grew up thinking my hair was "pelo malo" and was taught that the ONLY beauty standard was straight, "good hair", and so I hid my "pelo malo" complex behind keeping my hair straightened by going to the salon EVERY week, rain or shine. And God forbid a rain drop hit my hair! My anxiety would go up the roof if my roots would wrinkle and people would see my "pelo malo". As much as I’ve always loved the pool and the beach, even that was a stress factor for me, and for the millions of women that have been told they have “pelo malo”. I’m sure there are cultures other than Dominican ones that think having straight, shiny hair is what makes a woman beautiful. “El pelo es lo que hace una mujer. La mujer que tiene el pelo desarreglado, nunca luce bien y se ve fea.” These words would ring in my ears for more than three decades. These lies, so many of us have been fed. Curly hair or not.   

I stopped relaxing my hair in July 2015. This would be my third attempt to go natural; the first two times going back to relaxers because I truly believed I looked ugly and could not, for the life of me, look past my hair texture and see the beauty I carry within. I wanted my hair to look moisturized and less coily, but I couldn’t achieve that. I read in an Essence magazine article, “unlike straight hair which reflects light, our highly textured strands with their glorious bends and turns, refracts light, giving it a somewhat dull appearance. So, similar to those pesky single strand knots and shrinkage, it kinda comes with the territory.” ~Curly Nikki 

It’s been a difficult transition since I last stopped relaxing, to say the least. For an entire year I continued to visit the salon weekly because I hated the way the two different textures blended when growing out the relaxer. I was afraid to show the world my roots growing in. Then, in August of 2016, I went to a Devacurl salon to get my first curly cut. My intentions were never to do the big chop, I wanted to grow out my hair in stages. Needless to say, the hairdresser who cut my hair messed up so bad I had no other choice but to do the big chop (the process of cutting off the relaxed or permed ends of one’s hair when transitioning from chemically processed hair to natural hair). A very HUGE decision! But of course, I did not go to the same place. He messed up my haircut twice, AND, snipped my ear in the process, leaving me with a bloody painful ear :/ ! For weeks I hid at home because of the shame I felt, because of how terribly ugly I felt. When an uncle of mine past away last summer, I contemplated not attending his funeral because of fear of what my family would say and how they would ridicule me. Thankfully, my cousin convinced me to go. “Carmen, he’s not just anyone. He’s your mother’s brother.” My suspicions were confirmed that day. I was the talk of the funeral. Some of them telling me how horrible my hair looked. “Ay Dios mio Carmen, pero y que te hiciste en ese caquito? Tan bello y brilloso que tenía tu ese pelo.” Since my hair was no longer straight or shiny, they had lots to say. That was just ONE of the many horrible comments I received. I saw the looks on some of their faces, and heard the whispers about my hair. Less than a handful commended me for my decision and said my natural hair was pretty. I didn’t hear those. I didn’t hear the nice comments people made about my hair until recently... This... is called #Trauma.

A month later, my very close friend lost his five-year-old son. Again, I was paralyzed with fear. “Oh my God! I’m going to see people I haven’t seen in years. What will they think of me? I look so ugly.” This was my internal dialogue, daily. Especially, whenever I knew I was going to see people who had always seen my gorgeous, shiny, straight hair. I was there for my friends every step of the way because that’s what friend’s do. I felt humiliated, nonetheless...

It’s been almost one year since that big chop. It’s been almost an entire year of me hating who I’ve been looking at in the mirror. With having to do my own hair every week for the first time in my life, and having such tight curls, the struggle has been REAL. Many times regretting my decision, though going back this time around has never been an option. I made this decision to go natural and I am standing by that decision, irregardless of who likes my hair or not. My mom still not liking it and making sure she brings it to my attention each time I see her. “Pero mi hija, y cuando tu vas a ir para el salon?” (I’m unbothered, by the way.) I will never be a slave to a salon a-gain! This journey has made me develop thick skin and it’s been months since I let a single negative comment send me in a depressing spiral. Because yes, this journey made me even more depressed than what I normally was. But this journey, I’m grateful for. This journey, was meant to be. This journey, has transformed me. I have learned to love myself. Maybe not all of me lol, but a whole lot more than before I embarked on this journey! It’s a process, and I’m grateful for it.

Today, I am happy to say, I like my hair a LOT. I’m getting closer to loving it. I’m just waiting for the detangling process of the constant knots to get easier lol. But I don’t really see that happening as my hair continues to grow longer. I predict it’ll only get bigger tangles with how thick it is. Yikes! But what am I to do? It’s my hair. The hair I was born with. The hair I choose to keep and embrace because the freedom that I’ve felt is indescribable! Because I no longer feel like a slave. A slave to the salon. The slave I was for 35 years of my life! The freedom I feel when I’m outside rain or shine, humidity or not, curly q’s or not. Fuck, I’m fucking free from those shackles! 

This beautiful letter I’m sharing was written by a mother to her young daughter. If only every parent would say this to their child no matter their hair texture. A lot more girls would have confidence and feel pretty, while learning to embrace their natural beauty. It’s called, This is How You Learn to Love Your Hair. 

July 11, 2014  

Dear Zora,

This is how you learn to love your hair in a world that requires such lessons. First, you remember who gave you that glorious head of curls–your parents, your ancestors, your Creator. Then, you care for it like a treasured inheritance.

Loving your hair, like loving your family, your days, your life, requires two things: reverence and effort. To truly love your hair, you must hold it in high regard and you must behave like you do. As you behold it in a mirror or touch its willful strands, you must pause to consider what it does for you and to define what it means to you. Then you must treat it accordingly.

You’re not yet three years old, so this whole discussion may be a bit premature, but not by much. Your hair is cornrowed into a side ponytail today. You wear it that way because I’m calling the styles and long ago adopted a no heat, no chemicals, no fake hair policy for us both.

There’s no peer pressure for you to wear it any other way yet. Most of your friends rock afro puffs, box braids and two-strand twists. But you can look to their mothers’ relaxed and pressed styles for a preview of what’s to come. There comes a day when many moms of daughters with hair like yours reach for hot combs, flat irons and chemicals to “tame” kinky tresses. And when they do, I expect you’ll notice the difference and have some questions for me. Mommy, why doesn’t my hair blow in the wind? Why can’t I run my fingers through it? Why does it get curlier when wet and frizzier in the sun?

The decision to straighten or not is a personal one, albeit one loaded with social, cultural and economic significance for black people. From the moment slaveholders shaved off the elaborate hairstyles of their African captives, hairstyles have mirrored our rocky rise from anonymous chattel to distinctive humanity. To this day, hair is impossibly tangled up in issues of black identity and social acceptability. Just look at the debate raging over the U.S. military’s new grooming guidelines’ bias against black hair, which tends to grow out, not down.

I want to raise you to love your hair in its natural state so that dying it, relaxing it or not will truly be a choice for you. Some women say that they straighten their hair for fashion or convenience, but many are deluding themselves. They are crushing the natural texture of their hair because they were taught to hate kinky hair or never learned how to love or take care of it. They are relaxing, weaving and wigging their hair because in the twisted skin-shade, hair-texture hierarchies of American history, straight hair sometimes affords economic and social advantage. 

I am committed to teaching you this to fortify you against the crazy you will undoubtedly encounter. Soon you’ll observe women who don’t swim or work out because they want to keep their hairstyles intact. You’ll see some who will chemically process their hair to the point of baldness rather than embrace their God-given hair texture. You’ll notice others who would rather sport expensive wigs and weaves than take the time and do the research to nurture their own locks.

As you get older, others will look upon your natural hair and start jumping to conclusions about your class, your potential, your politics. I know because these same people see my afro puff and label me “militant” and worse. (Note: The labels say more about them than about me. Like Whitman, I contain multitudes.)

Avoid their prejudice and make sure your natural hair love is never reduced to straightened-hair hate. Not every naturalista is empowered and not every relaxer is rooted in shame.

When you are old enough to choose your own hair styles, may they reflect great self-awareness, self-confidence and vision. Always remember who gave you that head of hair–your parents, your ancestors, your Creator. Then care for it like the inheritance it is.

Love,

Mom