Approximately four years ago I decided to transition my hair, I wanted to play with the elasticity of my hair: better yet I wanted to rock my natural hair. However, I was not fully prepared for this journey. My expectations were far above the reality. I expected my hair to be 3a, long and very easy to take care of. I already imagined myself walking through the streets; receiving compliments from everyone and doing some hair flips. But then I bumped into reality.
The process took forever, my impatience was taking all my energy and I ended up cutting the straight pieces of my hair. I hated the difference of texture and my mother recommended me to use a texturizer. At some point a hairdresser recommended me to do a semi chop and I got finally rid of the texture difference. However, after a couple of months the disappointment joined reality once again. My hair was not a 3a hair type, but it was similar to a 4a. Ever since being a child I got the impression that this hair type was not beautiful. My classmate was being picked at by other classmates because of having this hair type. Besides, ‘friends’ often used to tell me that I am different from others, because I got that ‘good hair’. Would I loose my beauty? Would those people start referring to me as that girl who faked her ‘good hair’, but actually has that ‘bad hair’? I was so caught up with those thoughts, I actually believed in them. My best friends had to listen to my cries, my anger and disappointments continuously. Nevertheless, they continued supporting me and repeated themselves by saying that my natural hair is beautiful.
If my friends were convinced that my hair was beautiful, why was not I, the owner of the hair? I described my journey of acceptance earlier. To summarize, in order to be a witness of the beauty of my curls I stopped wearing them in a bun. I was wearing my crown naturally no matter the weather circumstances and frizz. This process enabled me to be more creative and to allow myself to be much more patience. I stopped being the biggest critic of myself and started becoming my biggest encourager. My view of a bad hair day was no longer having frizzy hair: to me a bad hair day is a day I am not enjoying the versatility of my hair. Consequently, I allowed myself the time to get to know my hair.
I love everything about my hair: the thickness, the length, its elasticity…Did I loose my beauty? No. Did those people start referring to me as that girl who faked her ‘good hair’, but actually has that ‘bad hair’? I could not care less, as long as I am happy with my crown.