Touch of Gray: Accepting Self

Salt & Pepper, snow on the mountain, sign of wisdom-it's all gray hair. I convinced myself that using these euphemisms would lessen the reality of life and aging; but let's face it-I've had my gray hair from the age of 17 and trust me when I say I had very little wisdom then. My mother and father went gray prematurely. Edna Mae, my mother, was known as "The Silver Fox" and Leslie, my father, delighted in getting a senior discount at the tender age of 40. I, however, did not share in their delight. I've had every hair color in the rainbow-attempts-five years to be exact. Once I did stop, everyone loved the gray hair but me. I had a chance to look at some pictures taken on a night out with friends and I could see myself the way everyone else was seeing me (maybe it was the margaritas). It wasn't that bad. Gray hair is just another shade of me. It may not guarantee wisdom, but it does say, "I've been here a minute, do you have any questions?"

I'm Free

"I'm free and I'm waiting for you to follow me." - "I'm Free" by The Who

One morning, since my transition, I looked in the mirror and for the first time in my entire life I liked what I saw. I've always had a pretty high self esteem, my body image was healthy, I've never thought of myself as gorgeous; but I am certainly not ugly. The only thing about myself I ever really hated was my hair. Once I started going natural and seeing my hair react to the proper care and products I fell in love. I couldn't believe that this thick, beautiful, healthy looking hair was mine. Each day I find something new to marvel at: a wave in the middle of curls, the true color of my hair, humidity is an afro's best friend. At first, I couldn't keep my hands out of it; my hair has NEVER felt so soft or looked this shiny and healthy.

More than this, I felt something deep within. I was finally whole. I was finally able to accept myself for who I truly was. I was finally free. It wasn't just my victory, it felt like I was breaking my link in our collective and ongoing struggle for freedom and self expression. I know it sounds grand; but black people have been held hostage by Eurocentric standards of beauty. For centuries we are told women with fair skin, long straight hair and light colored eyes are the most desirable (thus most worthy of protection) and black women have been placed on the opposite end of that spectrum. Through technology and ingenuity, black women and other women of color, are able to mimic these sought after traits; yet are still vastly under represented in the mainstream conversation of what beautiful is. To accept one's natural hair, to me, sends the message that I am beautiful despite your constraints and definitions. I can truthfully say I don't give a damn what you think of me or what you think I should be.

My Hair Story, Pt. 2-The Decision to Go Natural

Shortly after my marriage, my husband and I moved to Ohio. It was the first time I didn't have constant criticism about what I should be doing to my hair, so I just let it be. I had no clue how to take care of it; but figured that doing nothing had to be better than getting it relaxed. This is when I became acquainted with scarves. I also wore my hair in two afro-puffs below my ears almost constantly. I was not completely "clean of my creamy crack addiction"; I still got my hair relaxed for weddings and funerals. This went on for about four years, and then I had my moment.

My sister, niece and I went out to California to visit our Mom. I don't know if it is California or the fact that I was born there; but when I visit I am filled with a feeling that I can do anything, be anything (and "Estimated Prophet" plays in my head). Anyhoo, my mom has always wanted locks and while she was living in California, she found a loctician any realized one of her dreams. She also wanted to learn how to create and maintain locks and enrolled in classes to do so. By the time of our visit, she was locking hair in her house with a growing clientele. Mom had been thinking of opening a shop of her own, but as these decisions are hard to make, she asked for the advice of her daughters. Both my sister and I knew that Mom was serious about natural haircare (as she always has) and is very focused and driven, so we told her to go for it. The rest is, as they say, history.

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.