2 months in and I’ve only just begun.
A couple of months ago, I was talking about freedom and healing non-stop. Healing of toxic mentalities is freedom. I was thanking God for holistic healing but I was carrying around a deep seeded, unhealthy view of my own hair. I realized I had to answer a question for myself. How could I start this loc journey without shedding some of my own toxicity and stinking thinking about my own hair?
Yeah. Those pictures above are from day 2 of my “new” hair. It was also day 2455 of the process of removing decades of self-hatred, “nappy” mentality and harmful language that was used by others and myself to discredit my own beauty. Somewhere along the line, I had accepted the idea that my natural hair was ugly. I felt most beautiful when my hair was bone straight and flowing down my back. I had to look into my own head to see why I hated my hair.
I’m a last-line baby of the Baby Boomers and a first line Generation X. What does that mean? It means my Mother’s generation were and still are proponents of the “Straight hair/don’t care if it’s 100° keep those edges/nappy hair ain’t comely or professional” old school way of thinking. It means my generation let every
chemical known to man, i.e. Jerry Curl, Perm, Relaxer, color, conditioner, or whatever be put on (really in) our scalp in order to achieve said straightness/silkiness. It means there was a mentality I had to battle in and on my own head for years to go “natural”. It means I had to straddle the generations of the past, confront my present so I could move into the future without guilt or shame.
Letting go of the European ideals of beauty that were forced upon my ancestors has not been as easy as one would think. My African ancestors were literally stripped of everything that they held dear: religion, culture, foods, and yes, even hairstyles. In order to homogenize and erase the diversity of the different tribes of African women, their elaborate and often complex hairstyles of braids and locs were shorn from their heads upon arrival to the Americas. When their hair grew back, they were often times forced to wear rags or hats to cover their heads in order not to offend their oppressors. Most were allowed to wear plaits or braids but the elaborate styles of natural hair, intricate braiding styles and loc’d hair was forbidden. Along with the obvious, emotional, racial and cultural discrimination was used to infuse the minds of the enslaved with the notion that Black hair was uncivilized, unkempt and ugly, while straight hair was pure, presentable and beautiful. This was strongly carried over into the psyche of the slave when people of color were mixed with the oppressor. Children of mixed heritage were often times allowed to serve inside the home simply because their features and their hair was less threatening and more appealing to the master’s eyes. Fast forward to my time, Madame C J Walker, Johnson & Johnson and Soft Sheen had reinforced the European ideal of hair beauty by inventing and recreating products, tools, solutions and chemicals to achieve and maintain “good” hair. If you weren’t blessed enough to be born with “good” hair, then their was a product or tool that could help you get it anyway.
Much of my childhood, adolescence, young adulthood and even into my 40’s was spent sitting in the beautician’s chair trying to keep that “good” hair going. If I were even to attempt to fathom the amount of hours, various combinations of cremes, gels and solutions, or money that was spent on my hair alone, I would probably stagger myself. It is estimated that Black women in America spend nearly nine times more than non-Blacks on ethnic hair and beauty products. In 2018, we spend a whopping $1.1 billion on beauty annually. That’s billion with a B by the way. I can say between my mother starting to send me to the salon at the age of 4, to 2014, close to $40,000 has been spent on my hair. No exaggeration. That’s probably on the low side. It was literally only because of a chemical burn which took out a significant portion of my hair at the front, that I stopped getting relaxers. The pain of chemical burns, breakage and thinning, maintenance, price of products and stylists, loss of time and heat damage wasn’t enough to stop me before that incident. It was truly a sign of my vanity and ego that I would not heed the warning of Holy Spirit and stop putting my hair, scalp and mentality through that suffering. Yes. Even before it happened, God had told me to stop going to get relaxers. It was because of my disobedience, I paid the price of losing my hair. In November, 2013, I had no choice but to go natural.
Going natural was a process in and of itself. Especially because I felt I had no choice. Nevertheless, I tried everything in my power to NOT do what I eventually had to do: THE BIG CHOP. I did the yarn extension braids. I did the (very realistic and EXPENSIVE) weave. But it all led to one conclusion, I was going to have to face my truth and cut off all the damage, both naturally and spiritually. All my life, I’ve had hair. Thick, coarse, unruly, nappy hair. Even with the relaxer, a small bit of rain would send my hair “back to Africa.” The thought of having to sport a t.w.a. – teeny weeny afro sent shock waves through my delicate ego. Would I still be attractive? How is my Momma gonna react?
How is my job (flight attendant, contingent on being attractive job) going to react? What would I do without my hair? I went to a stylist who, along with the owner of the salon, literally held my hands, prayed with me and told me I was going to be beautiful. I didn’t let them see me cry and I refused to look at all the damaged tresses which had fallen to the ground. That was it. My humiliation was complete as far as I was concerned. My hair was never going to be beautiful ever again.
To my complete and utter surprise, what began as perceived trauma to my pride and ego unexpectedly turned into a sense of freedom and allure. Men. Black men, white men, Asian men, Latinx men began to compliment me on my twa. Young men stopped me in the airport and thanked me… THANKED me for wearing my REAL hair. Those men, in those first few awkward months, gave me the courage to continue wearing my hair in it’s short, natural state. Ironically, Black women both young and old, were the ones who did not give supportive looks or sisterly encouragement. Several times older Black women asked me, “When are you going to grow your hair back?”. Ouch. That hurt. The women who should have encouraged me in embracing this new me, were the very ones who looked on me with disdain and visual judgment. I got the message loud and clear from them: Your nappy hair is making us all look bad.
I have to give credit to one Black woman who helped me stay the natural course. I was in the airport in Newark, New Jersey one afternoon, standing in line at a fast food joint to grab a bite in between flights, when a woman touched me on the shoulder and said, “I saw you across the way and had to come over and compliment you on your hair. You look stunning and regal like the queen you are.” Before I knew it, tears were in my eyes and I thanked her profusely for her compliment. She’d said that before she even saw my face. When I turned to thank her face to face, it was then that we both recognized each other: it was my beautiful God-sister, Cap, who I hadn’t seen in a few years. That chance meeting with her melted all of the resistance I had been experiencing in my own mind and spirit. I fell into her arms and wept. She’d complimented me before she even knew it was me. That moment in time was the precise moment when I decided I would never go back to the “creamy crack” ever again.
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Over the past few years, I’ve worn my hair in various natural and “protective” styles. I’ve done twists and twistouts, blowouts, silk presses, braids and even faux-locs. One style I relied upon heavily was the phoney pony… My hair pulled back into a ponytail, with a faux ponytail or afro puff attached to my hair. It was convenient and stylish. The other was the “wash and go”, exactly what it implies. I’d wash my hair, detangle it, put conditioner on it and walk out the door. But remember that part about my hair being thick, coarse, nappy and unruly hair? Well, if I thought it was bad when I had a relaxer, hello! Welcome to patience in doing my own hair. On average, wash day could take between 4 to 6 HOURS just to wash, detangle, condition and rinse my hair. IF I decided to twist or braid my hair, that would be an additional 8 to 12 hours. Yes. H O U R S. The worst part? I’d spend all that time detangling my hair only for my natural zig-zag kink pattern to knot itself back into endless and hopeless knots. I was spending just as much time, effort and money on products to keep my natural hair as I had when I had the relaxer! Enough was enough.
There was more to my decision to loc than just waking up and deciding to try something new. I literally had to pray, seek God’s Word and wisdom and reject the ingrained notion that I wasn’t beautiful until I had straight, manageable hair. No shade or disrespect to my Momma (please!) but it was a mentality I had to battle in my own head for years. Would I be able to move into a somewhat “deeper” realm of my natural hair? I wasn’t sure until I had an encounter with Jesus in the bathroom mirror.
One morning about a year ago, I was looking in the mirror at this unruly mess and having a conversation with Abba God at the same time. I was truly questioning Him and the “mistakes” He had made when it came to my head. I had to reconcile contradictory facts: God created me and He makes no mistakes… except when it came to my hair? I was beautifully and wonderfully made in His likeness and His image… except for this so called horrible “nappy” hair? What was He thinking? I love Him so much, one because He didn’t strike me dead for being so bratty. Two, because He so sweetly calmed me and told me to look carefully at my reflection. “No my daughter”, He said. “I made no errors when I created you and your hair. Your hair is your crowning glory. I literally created your hair to reflect the halo of glory that surrounds you. It reaches up like fingers to give praise to me and worship me in beauty. You are a direct image of the love I have for you and the love you have willingly given back to Me.” Stunned. I mean stunned and arrested by God’s love for me is the only way I can describe that encounter. It was in that moment I began to embrace fully my natural hair and contemplate going back to a style that my ancestors had embraced millennia ago: locs.
July, 2019 I decided to loc my hair. For me, my locs, in part, will represent the FREEDOM I have from the oppressive and self discriminating and inflammatory thoughts I had about myself. Freedom comes in so many ways and my hair is a fresh expression of my new revelations! These locs are just an outward expression of the renewed mind I’m receiving during this season. So far, I’ve gotten compliments on my hair from all types of people. I’ve also gotten complete radio silence from others close to me. What’s significant about that? The significance is I would normally be on an emotional roller coaster from other’s opinions of MY appearance. I would wait for the approval of certain people and brace myself to be stung by their criticism and/or dismissive attitudes. This time stranger, friend, family or foe, whether they like it, love it, ignore it or criticize it, it doesn’t matter to me. I LIVE TO LOVE MY DECISIONS and be true to the woman ADONAI has created me to be.
7 1/2 weeks in and I’m learning to fall in love with me all over again. Not the version of me that is compared to the European standard of beauty. Nor the version of me who was compelled to adhere to the traditions and inherited rhetoric of “straight hair, don’t care.” This me, this 52 year old woman, is learning to embrace the natural, authentic, thick, wooly, zig-zaggy, loc-just-looking-at-it hair that God so abundantly blessed me with. I expect as I continue this hair care journey, I will receive more epiphany, experience more emotions and have more interesting conversations with God about this thing called hair. In the past, I would have dreaded facing these hard truths about myself. Now I am willing to see me in all my gloriously imperfect perfection. I, for the first time in my life, can look at my hair and say, I AM fearfully and wonderfully made, especially about my head! Loc’d Hair, Just Don’t Care… what you think, that is!
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