The day the Red album dropped was one of the most defining moments in my life thus far.

Taylor Swift was my style icon. Her music spoke to my thirteen year old soul and she always looked so flawless on stage, I probably watched the Our Song music video a good thousand times just so I can look at all the princessey outfits and silver eyeshadow she was rocking in attempts to replicate it. But more than anything, she had curly hair just like me.

I was born bald, but when my hair decided to grow in, it grew in with a statement. I had thick corkscrew curls that piled on the top of my head like Shirley Temple. By the time I was seven, I had these thick ringlets that collided down to the base of my spine.

My mom loved my hair; every adult I came in contact with loved my hair. It was so thick and dark and had a unique pattern that people could not get enough of. At the time, I was at an age where my hair didn't matter to me. I just let it hang loose or stuck it up in a ponytail when it was in the way. It was just hair.

Then middle school came and so did the trend of pin straight hair. Every one around me either was born with thin hair or owned a straightener that they used religiously. Everyone but me. I would braid my hair in twin pigtails every day to hide the massive volume I was packing in a desperate attempt to not be the odd one out. A little part of me felt like I betrayed Taylor, she was still rocking the curls while I had given into peer pressure. She was singing songs about self empowerment and loving yourself in the "Speak Now" era with a full head of curls while I was blindly following my classmates. Then this happened.

If Taylor could shake of her curls, so could I.

When I got my first flat iron everything changed. My world revolved around it. Whether it was setting my alarm for 5:30 to do my hair every morning or skipping washes to preserve a blow out, I spent half my time planning on doing my hair when I should have focused on the damage I was doing to it. It was't until my sophomore year of college, after six years and two Taylor Swift (post curls) albums of vigorous hair frying, that I fully realized the extent of my problem.

I was walking with my boyfriend who started giggling to himself. When I demanded what was wrong, he confessed that the ends of my hair were so dry after so many years of heat damage that they looked like "Christmas lights" in the sunlight.

After that I knew what I had to do, I had to cut the cord (to my flat iron).

I couldn't just quit cold turkey. I began limiting my hair straightening ritual to only for special events, but the problem with that was in my mind everything turned into a special event. Whether it was a big date, picture day, an interview, special outfits I thought straight hair would look better with, or even a big soccer game where my hair was going to get messed up anyway. Once again my life revolved around straightening my hair. The only way was to stop all at once.

I'm told all the time that I look better with my natural hair, and I'm still trying my hardest to believe those who tell me. It takes a lot to separate the stigma with curly hair, people even theorized that Taylor's big hair shift was a result of trying to look more adult and shake off her innocent image as if having curly hair made you any less of a person. Ignore society trying to flatten out curly hair is a huge part in accepting that this is me; this is who I am, and there is a reason I look like this.

Taylor Swift is still straightening her hair and that's fine. She may be one of the most successful and influential women of our time but she has nothing to do with my hair. I miss her curls and I hope they make a come back one day but I've learned a lot from my journey; I'm ready to untame the mane.