Growing up, my mother always told me God made me (and everyone) perfect in every way and I need to appreciate every ounce. I found this concept very difficult to begin with considering there was such a pressure to look and be a certain way. Early on I realized my look was not the usual. I was a tall chubby girl with curly, poofy hair with thick braces and dark glasses. Many times growing up, I (or my mother) was told I need to control my hair or fix it.
I remember begging my mother to get my hair fixed for picture day in elementary school. She was hesitant but agreed, and a local friend who was a hairdresser took on the task. Although I hated the heat and the smell, I was in love with the end result. Sometimes I wondered if I loved it truly or simply because everyone told me that it was to be loved. Nonetheless, I show up to school, flipping my blow dried hair and feeling like Farrah Fawcett.
Fast forward to middle school and I am desperately begging my mother for a perm. All I wanted was long straight light hair and all I had was poofy, nappy dark hair. It made me ashamed to be in my skin and many days, I left my hair in ponytails and brushed it until I could make myself believe it was straight of some sort.
Most of my middle school childhood, I was on a dance team. For our performances, we had our hair did to be in ballerina buns or Shirley Temple curls and it was my favorite part (besides the dancing of course!). Whether it was one of the mothers or on occasion a professional hairdresser, the experience always felt glamorous. I fell in love with the smell of burnt hair and the burn on one’s ears from hot combs. I felt like a rock star with having to take a million and one bobby pins out of my hair after a performance or the excessive ungodly amount of glitter I had to wash out-- I loved it all.
However… there was always an inner pressure to straighten my hair and to lose my curls. Most of the girls always had their hair straightened or chemically processed. Being a girl who wanted to be like the pretty women in the magazines, the popular girls at my school, or just on the dance team, I concluded that my hair must be straightened to encompass that. So I flat ironed again and again. Week after week, month after month, year after year. I convinced myself that I was better, just not beautiful. My inner demon of insecurity truly got the best of me most of my childhood and teenage life. I would argue with my mom about getting a perm or at least a texturizer, I would spend hours in front of the mirror, messing with my hair only to be defeated and ashamed, and I would constantly wear my hair up to just not deal with it.
Forward to high school and not much has changed. I still put constant heat on my hair and still hated it. I still envied girls with straight hair, whether processed or natural, and I was insecure. I was a pretty good representation of a teenager full of insecurity and angst. How classic. I knew I was heterosexual because I was very interested in boys. I also knew boys did not care because they were not very interested in me. I was practically invisible to most boys and I accepted it early on, believing that my hair was one of the issues as to why.
I felt pressured to straighten my hair many times because when I did, I was always complimented. It was praised on how long it looked and how shiny it was. But when I was curly, nothing was ever complimented, simply stated or on the glorious occasion, announced.
“You would look prettier if your hair was straight.”
“Your hair is too much. Fix it.”
“Look! That light skin girl has gum in her hair!”
Yes, it’s true. I had the old some random person put their gum in my hair because they thought it would be funny joke put on me. Kind of funny now? Yeah. Traumatizing to my already insecure self. Just a little.
One winter break, I randomly got on YouTube out of boredom and saw someone put up a hair video. I clicked on it and haven’t been the same since. I have never seen such beautifully crafted videos and tutorials on hair. Then I saw women who looked like me. Who had the same hair or troubles with hair as I did. I noticed something though; none of them hated their kinks or their curls. They did not hate on themselves or lower their values. They embraced themselves in whatever formed they were; whether it was natural hair or processed. Women and men flaunted their hair like nobody’s business, whether it was their own hair or not. I fell for their confidence and their self-love.
Then I realized something too, I wanted to be like that. I wanted to be confident and happy with myself. I did not want to alter myself because that is the only way for me to be beautiful or worthy. If I straighten my hair, it’s because I feel like it. If I keep my natural curls, it’s because I want to. Not for others approval or society standards. To this day I still have my moments (who doesn’t?) of insecurity but I can honestly say, I have never been less ashamed of who I am than now. I wear my hair proud and happy in whatever I choose to keep it in. After growing as a person and finding peace with myself, I am happy to say God made me (and everyone) perfect in every ounce.
