Growing up, I loved everything about my Haitian and Mexican combination except for one thing. It was something superficial. Something that caused me frustration and would often have me sobbing and disappointed as a young girl.
My hair.
When I was little, I hated my hair with a passion. I hated how curly it was, how I could never wear it straight, and how different my hair was from my mom’s hair and every brown girl I knew at that time, which weren’t many. As for my mom’s hair, it dried straight, stayed “flat,” and took three minutes, maybe four, to style. Most of the brown girls I knew had tighter curls or relaxers. Growing up, I tried many styles with my hair but we always settled on one look. When it was time to do my hair, my mom would wash it, untangle it for what seemed like hours, add a bunch of products to it, all for the same style, two braids. On special occasions, my mom would leave my hair out which always sounded nice at first. When my hair was wet, it had curls and bounce, but within a few hours, I would have huge dried out puffs. All I wanted to do was hide or cry so I avoided the situation altogether. I usually looked at my hair with disgust.
This self-hatred went on for years until I approached the 9th grade and had a new feeling about my hair. I flew from Cleveland to Miami to spend time with my cousins and aunts on my Haitian side of the family. The first thing my aunt did was take me to get my first relaxer. I walked out of the salon hours and hours later with a burned, sore scalp, but it didn’t matter. I had straight, thick hair down to my waist. My hair was actually blowing in the hot, Miami wind. Blowing hair? An entire first. I stared and stared in the mirror and finally, I felt great. To a 13-year-old getting ready to start high school, my life had changed forever and for the better. I had straight hair!
Decades later, I would do anything to have those curls back. For the last several years, I have worn my hair curly in an effort to go back to my natural curl pattern. Although it’s been more than 14 years since my last relaxer, the heat from flat irons and blow-outs took all the natural bounce and curls from my hair.
Today I have a daughter who went through her own journey and is still going through it. When my daughter was seven-years-old, she also looked at her hair with the same disgust I once had for my own hair. She refused to wear it free just like I once did. Knowing my own issues with my hair at her age, I made an effort to talk about her hair many times; how beautiful it was, and why she should love it. I tried everything from the “you are perfect in His sight” to showing her pictures of models of all shades of brown with beautiful, curly hair of all textures. I would ask her if she thought they were beautiful and even though she said yes, she still thought the curly hair looked “good on them but not on [her].”
I started to wear my own hair curly to show her that I am owning my hair. I have even said out loud how I wished my hair curled like hers. I have even pointed out how her curly hair has landed her several features in the modeling jobs she had done.
I remember one day when my daughter was seven how upset she was about her hair. She got on the bus in tears and so upset with me. While doing her hair that morning, I told her I would put her hair half-up and the rest out. My plan this morning was half lesson, half functional. We did not have time for me to do braids this morning or Sunday evening like I normally would. So that morning, I used convenience to try to get her to embrace her hair. She protested and I resisted. We walked to the bus and by the time we got there, she was so upset with me.
As she got on the bus, I knew I failed. I told her she looked nice with her hair different. Reminded her that she always wore her hair out for modeling. She didn’t care. Her younger brother walked behind her on the bus and looked at her in total bewilderment. Why the fuss over hair? Other kids could see she was crying and so upset. For a second, I thought about taking her off the bus and going home to redo her hair. The idea was silly, then it wasn’t. I didn’t know what to think.
Despite all I have done, I realized that morning that no matter what I did for her, her love for who she is and what she looks like will have to ultimately come from within. I can help her to be proud of her background, her bi-cultural and ethnic heritage. But self-love comes from inside.
Today she is almost 15 years old and she embraces her hair. It’s much thicker and curlier than when she was just seven. She wears it in braids, sometimes she gets it straightened, she sometimes pulls it all back and yes, sometimes she even wears it all out. Her love for her hair is only starting and I will support her in the styles she chooses and how she chooses to embrace her curls. We even went to a natural hair forum during a mother-daughter trip in Miami with my cousin and her daughter who is just ten years old. We had a great time and heard from speakers, men and women, who shared their own journey with their hair.
If you’re raising a young girl and just getting started, stay encouraged. Do what you can to support them in their journey. There is no question that our hair, our crowns are beautiful. The different textures, patterns, styles, and looks don’t define us but tell a beautiful story about us. We owe it to our daughters to support them in their journey and encourage them to love their hair.
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