When I had my first daughter, my hair flipped out!
I mean, I had cut it all off. It was growing with prenatal vitamins, and with breastfeeding, it fell out. At that time, I was really still insecure about my looks–and didn’t think that I was pretty. I mean I thought that my hair relaxed and rule straight was the only way to achieve pretty.
That self-acceptance…that was scary. Being able to love me, stripped down, unmade and with all of my 4c hair…I couldn’t imagine. I thought I had to have all these things to be pretty–to be considered beautiful. Seeing me, all of me, without the accoutrement that makes a woman beautiful, was absolutely frightening!
It goes deeper than the adjusting to curl patterns, wash day rituals, and bonnets. It goes deeper than learning how to braid, twist, and what protective style best suits you. The world loves to see broken Black girls. It loves to see us hating ourselves, and loving what we cannot be!
There is nothing so scary as a Black girl who hates what she sees in the mirror: she cannot trust the world, nor herself.