Growing up, I despised the idea of wearing my hair naturally. Every girl I went to school with had long, flowing, beautiful, straight hair. And my hair? My mom would braid mine, put it in pigtails, or try different styles with my natural curls.
I didn’t want braids. I wanted the long, straight hair. To me, beautiful hair was straight hair, and I believed that was what made me beautiful.
I remember waking up extra early one morning before school to straighten my hair. I sat in the chair waiting for the straightener to heat up, but it wouldn’t. Time kept getting closer and closer to my bus arriving, and I knew I wouldn’t finish my hair in time.
I looked at my mom and started crying.
“It’s okay, baby,” my mom told me. “Your hair is beautiful.” But it did not feel okay at all.
Throughout elementary school, I watched my mom straighten my hair until I eventually started doing it myself. One day, my dad took my straightener and told me I couldn’t straighten my hair anymore. He said my hair was beautiful exactly the way it was, and I was going to ruin it. I was so upset with him because I felt like he was taking away what made me feel beautiful.
When I wore my natural hair, it would frizz up, shrink up, and feel really short. I didn’t know how to style it or take care of it properly. My mom always tried her best, but she didn’t know what my curls needed either.
Once I hit middle school and high school, I was back to straightening my hair constantly. I would straighten it at the start of the week and redo it every morning before school to make sure it was nice and flat.
Until my senior year, when the thing my dad had warned me about happened. My curl pattern was completely damaged. Some pieces stayed straight, some were curly, and others started straight, curled in the middle, and went straight again at the end.
I was surprised by how upset I was. I had spent years trying to get rid of my curly hair, but now that it was damaged, I wanted my curls back. I had always known that if I wanted to wear my natural hair, I could. And now I couldn’t anymore.
After graduating high school, I decided to cut my hair off and start over. I wore protective styles and gave my hair time to grow and recover. Through social media, I discovered curly haircuts. I watched people’s transformations and saw how happy they looked after their first curly cuts, so I scheduled my own appointment.
I was excited to finally learn how to style and maintain my hair. I told my hairstylist that I loved my curls when they were wet, but once they dried and became a big, frizzy mess, I didn’t like them anymore. While she cut and styled my hair, she walked me through everything step by step: the products to use, how to style it, and how to care for it at night.
I was 21 when I finally learned how to care for my hair the right way and could look at my curls without wanting to straighten them anymore. I love my curls and wish I had learned how to care for them properly sooner. I could look at myself with curly hair and feel the same way I felt with straight hair: my hair was beautiful.Â
Now, at 25, I wear my hair curly almost every day, and I only use the straightener maybe twice a year. I remember being a little girl and hating how big and poofy my hair would get. Now, the bigger my hair is, the happier I am.Â
It makes me remember what my mom used to tell me: “You always want what you can’t have.” She reminded me that my hair was beautiful and that it was okay that it wasn’t straight. My dad told me the same thing in his own way. Even though I was upset with him for taking my straightener, I understand now. He was trying to prevent exactly what I ended up doing to my hair.
The thing I spent so much of my childhood wanting to change has become one of my favorite things about myself. My curls aren’t something I hide, straighten, or wish I didn’t have anymore.
I’m finally embracing my curly hair.