Approximately six years ago, I relaxed my hair for the last time. It was the day before my graduation and wearing my hair natural had been on my mind for several months, as I could no longer justify putting a dangerous chemical directly on my head to straighten my hair for aesthetic purposes while actively seeking to eat organic foods; it was a silly contradiction and I immediately understood it as such.

Almost a year later, I cut off the relaxed ends and wound up wearing a teeny weeny afro that I initially hated. Nothing was wrong with it per se, I just thought my curls would be looser, bigger, more flowing. I wanted my hair to be longer than it was. There were times I’d look in the mirror and cry: what had I done? Why did I do this? Yet, there was such a strong knowing that I was at the point of no return; my last relaxer was the last relaxer. “I’m undergoing a paradigm shift,” I’d tell myself when I needed comforting.

When you begin to wear your hair the way it grows out of your head after years of manipulating it to specifically do otherwise, you’re suddenly confronted with your ideas about beauty in general, your individual beauty, and your people’s beauty.

Many women consider it to be a quasi spiritual experience, and, honestly, that’s no exaggeration. It’s a reawakening. To yourself. To your beauty. To your ancestry. To healthy self-esteem.

Six years ago, I had this reawakening.

Recently, after a failed attempt at growing out my hair from what was, to date, the best hairstyle of my life, I decided to completely shave all my hair off. On an impulse.

I immediately mourned the loss of my hair, even as I was cutting it. My sister watched, astonished, while championing what she considered to be bravery, although I didn’t feel like I had any other option. “I just don’t think I’m cute enough to pull this off,” I told her.

Despite the many compliments tossed my way — “I love it!” “Leandra?! You look stunning.” — I felt pretty insecure. Before, I had my face plus really cool hair. Now, I just had my face. Initially, I wore more makeup than usual, and always wore it. I would say, “I don’t want to look like a little boy,” but really I just didn’t think I was attractive enough to successfully be without hair. I wanted it to be. I wanted to look in the mirror and have that instant knowing of “this is me.” That moment never came for me.

What did come was an understanding that I was about to become really familiar with my face. Because I was uncomfortable, I knew I had to settle into the discomfort and feel it out. Really, what other choice do you have when you shave your head? It’ll grow back, yes, but it takes time. In the meantime, you can attempt to overcompensate or you can decide to get comfortable. I chose the latter.

I’ve returned to wearing my usual amount of makeup, which consists of mascara, and maybe subtle eye shadow and/or eye liner. The darker my hair got, the more I liked it and while I still have yet to have the “this is me” feeling, I know I’m getting there without developing anymore complexes regarding my looks.

The most recent epiphany I had regarding my hair came this past weekend when my love suggested I brush my hair, instead of my usual “do nothing to it wash and go” routine. To demonstrate his point, he brushed it, only for me to confirm not liking how brushing made my hair a teeny weeny afro.

I reflected it on it more and more. Why didn’t I like it?

In a moment of pure honesty, my answer was something like “I look too black.”

Uh oh.

That right there let me know I was in trouble. Too black meaning really African, which I’m a descendant of…so what does that mean?

It means even though I was natural, even though I’d began to accept the aesthetics of natural African/African-American hair, I still have some work to do. Everything isn’t for everyone, and I understand that I don’t have to accept every natural look on myself as proof of healthy self-esteem. However, I think self-acceptance is critical to healthy self-esteem and while I may opt not to go after a particular style, strong resistance is a barometer to guage my self-comfort. I don’t have to brush my hair, but if I refuse to, I should look at that.

It’s been a month and it’s still just me and my face, now with a teeny bit of hair. I’m excited about working with and taking care of my hair all over again. Once again, it feels like a reawakening and my life is reflecting that major change.

If you’ve recently cut your hair or embarking upon so soon, realize the opportunity it presents to you to love yourself even more. Being without hair is an opportunity to embrace how you look–now. It’s when we feel most insecure that we require our own bravery to not succumb to using crutches that will only cause more problems down the line. It’s a reawakening. A new beginning of sorts. An opportunity to connect. To yourself. To your beauty. To your people.

That’s how I’ve chosen to use this period.

As a child, I watched my grandfather eat grapefruit regularly. Eager to be like him, I requested to taste it, and hated it. What was wrong with the man?

A decade and some change later, I’d drastically changed the way I ate to manage my migraines. Processed foods had become a decreasing part of my diet, while natural foods became the foundation, so my taste completely changed. While perusing the grocery store for new foods, I found myself staring at a grapefruit.

Hmmm…

I decided to give it a go.  After all, who knew what would happen?

The next morning I was in for a shocking surprise. I didn’t like it; I loved it. That was six years ago and grapefruit has since become a staple.

When’s the last time you tried something new or something you long ago decided you didn’t like? Your tastes change, if you let them. Expand your palette for life.

I was once a half-hearted fatalist.  Everything happened for a reason, but the undesirable moments were flukes.  “What did I do to deserve this?  There must be some kind of mistake.”  As such, I fully embraced the victim mentality and chose to believe I had little power over outcomes in my life.  I was wading in a pool of uncertainty and insecurity, and downright miserable because of it.

There was, however, a turning point.  Excuse Me, Your Life is Waiting and Conversations With God  destroyed me in a very constructive way.  For the first time, I truly reconsidered my conditioning.  I began to toss out and reconstruct old paradigms, one of which was my idea of personal power.  

Old paradigm: things happen at a fickle and, apparently, cruel God’s whim. 
New paragdim: things outside of our control may happen to us, but our responses to those events matter more than the events themselves. 

Fast forward to several years later and that paradigm is still being refined and intertwined into my behavior.  Intellectually, the concept made sense, but hadn’t yet fully made its way into consistent practice.  I realized I needed to “find the good.”  So I started this blog.  After a few rough starts and several months, I began to live the credo.  Now, I have to find the good, that tranformative element that makes a situation worthwhile: What am I supposed to learn or change?  How can this be of benefit to me or others?

Since discarding the old, whimsical paradigm, I have discovered a sense a power and control in my life that allows me to simulateneously be moved by my own determination while being moved by a power infinitely more intelligent than I.  Neither our stories nor our struggles are our own.  There is a great deal of catharsis and power in sharing your story and supporting others with similar experiences.  

Perhaps you’ve experienced something of great magnitude and pain to deepen your capacity for understanding and healing.  How we use an experience is our choice.  If you believe that everything happens for a reason, finding and creating meaning are one and the same. 

Find the good.

Image source: Honey 77