My Hair Story-The Rise and Fall of my Hair Esteem

Like so many other little girls, my earliest hair memories are of me sitting between my mom's legs while she separated, combed, greased and braided. I am thankful that as my mother spent hours forming and sculpting my hair she never made it seem like a burden or struggle. As a matter of fact, she made a point to tell me how strong my hair is, that it was a testament of the strength of our people. To her, and then to me, our hair came to be more than something to style and primp. Our hair was a gift, an heirloom, passed down from one generation to the next. It held innumerable stories of joy and pain, it was something that was undeniably ours that wouldn't be tamed or hidden. I was secure with myself and my hair. It wasn't until middle school when my hair esteem began to sink.

I now understand why they call relaxers "Creamy Crack". When I think about how I got "hooked" it eerily mirrors true addiction-peer pressure. I was soon the target of a group of kids I'll call "the set"; the one's that are so concerned with letting you know what is wrong who you are before ever taking a look at themselves. "The set" wanted to know why I was so different. They wanted to know why I didn't perm my hair like them, why didn't I like the same type of music they did, why didn't I dress like them. As a result I was called names and accused of not being or wanting to be black. Oh really? Since I wouldn't give up my clothes, my music or my friends I gave up my hair. I took the "it's only hair" line of thinking and from that first relaxer, my hair esteem plummeted.

I hated my hair when it was relaxed. I hated the way my hair felt, the way the products I had to use smelled and felt and I hated the way my hair looked. It went from being healthy and full to thin and weighed down. I would keep it in a ponytail, bun or pulled up into a clip after a relaxer. I didn't care about cute styles or what hair trend was in or not. Apparently, this wasn't the right attitude to have. I was still harassed for not getting touch-ups often enough and not caring about the cool hairstyles. I began to separate my hair from the rest of who I was. I kept it pulled up and back in an "out of sight, out of mind" type of thing. The less I thought about my hair, the more remote it became. To me, ignoring my hair was better than continually doing something to it that made me hate my hair. Though peer pressure was strong, I just couldn't give in as often and as readily as others could.

For the next 15 years my hair really suffered. Not only did I hate relaxers my hair hated them even more. With each relaxer, my hair got thinner and thinner. It broke off in odd patterns, shed like crazy and its growth couldn't keep up with the damage. In trying to make my hair into something it was never meant to be I was destroying it. I tried reducing my "habit" to special occasions thinking that would help, but it traumatized my hair even more.

For the next installment of my hair story, I will share the event that led me back to my natural hair. In the meantime, I invite you guys to share some of your earliest and fondest hair memories or times when your hair esteem went up or down.

Thanks for listening!