“Your hair is like hair of steel,” my mom told me.
Those words stayed with me throughout my childhood and into my early adulthood, echoing in my mind every time I looked in the mirror.
Growing up, I always knew my hair was different from my classmates. Having attended predominantly white institutions (PWIs) for most of my life, especially in elementary school, I often wondered why my hair was afro-textured while my friends’ hair was straight.
I felt like my difference made me a target for judgment, and I couldn’t help but imagine what my peers thought of me. I always felt on edge talking to my white peers about this.
That discomfort followed me through school and into university.
During the summers after my first year, I finally felt some relief.
Even as I gained confidence over the summers, I still didn’t feel comfortable wearing my natural hair during the academic year. I would straighten it for school events or pull it into sleek styles, convincing myself it was easier that way.
But each time I did, a small part of me felt hidden, tucked beneath heat and hair products, like I was trying to fit into a mold that wasn’t made for me.
Glimpsing my reflection in the hallway mirrors, I barely recognized the person staring back—a version of myself shaped more by others’ expectations than by who I truly was.
Even as I gained confidence over the summers, I still didn’t feel comfortable wearing my natural hair during the academic year. I tried to adapt, but it never quite felt natural.
I would straighten it for school events or tie it back in sleek styles to “fit in,” telling myself it was just easier that way. But every time I did, I felt a little piece of myself tucked away, hidden beneath heat and hair products.
Until one of my colleagues told me something that changed my perspective.
“It’s okay to be different, you just have to find people who are similar to you.”
And that’s exactly what I did, starting my third year of university.