Hair

My first memory of my hair has to be around 6th grade. Clear as day I remember walking from the busstop in the rain, my bestfriend at the time was so excited. Due to the rain and it being the middle of the week, she knew her mom was not going to press her hair. She would get the opportunity to show off her beautiful curls and begged me to do the same.

See my mother always told me my hair was beautiful, that it was strong, and full of personality. But before this I never actually knew what my hair looked like, it was always in twists or pressed out. I excitedly ran inside the house and told my mom of my plans to show off my beautiful curls at school the next day.

I sat as she washed my hair, excitedly playing with the curls that fell in my face. Hours later I looked in the mirror and cried my eyes out. I felt unbelievably ugly. I looked at my mothers long wavy hair and was dismayed as why mine was not as “beautiful” as my hers. That same sentiment was reflected by friends, classmates, and teachers the next day. Everyone was wondering what happened to my hair .

After this my mother refused to straighten my hair ever again. She wanted me to feel beautiful in my coils. To this day I associate a majority of my beauty with my hair. It is my largest insecurity and I still struggle fighting the desire to compare my texture to others.