3B, 3A, and 4C

"It's almost like I watched a video of a surgery and realized why I could never give myself an appendectomy. It's really complex."

Patrick laughed,  and I was happy that he understood the bizarre metaphor I used to describe the hair care regimens I had discovered on YouTube. Watching a few videos about how to properly tie a scarf at night,
co-wash my hair, diagnose my curl pattern, and moisturize my curls literally made me cry. I felt as if I had finally gained access to an exclusive club to which I had always been denied.  I ordered a few books and began researching products, starting with the grocery store brands and common household items. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I was excited to care for my hair. By days end, I had a new type of conditioner, an anti-frizz serum, and a pink spray bottle to mix my own concoction in. That night, I washed my hair sans shampoo, conditioned, deep conditioned, moisturized, sealed, and covered my 1/2 inch anxious to uncover the results the next day.

And here I am, at 5:30 am on a beautiful Arizona morning, stroking my small small amount of hair, amazed at how it feels. When I first removed the silk scarf that I was still surprised stayed in place as I slept, my hair looked darker to me, almost as if it had been dyed. When I ran my fingers through, I realized why. My hair was swollen with moisture. And once again, I had tears.

I never really sought out advice for care of my hair because I had always been too embarrassed and didn't know what questions to ask. I felt as if my ignorance would be laughable because everyone knows how to properly care for their hair. I had my fill of teasing about my hair and wasn't going to invite in more, so I stayed ignorant until yesterday. Today, I had so many tears.

My hair had always been another mark of my inferiority. My hair and my skin. Being raised in an entirely European American environment with absolutely no favorable images of black women available combined with repeated occurances of boys telling me I was "ugly," "dirty," or "gross," I didn't see the beauty of my skin tone until much later in life. In addition to not liking the color, I also disliked my actual skin. Always rough, dry, cracked, and bumpy. I did not know that was the condition of my skin when not properly moisturized and not my skin in general. I learned to love it as I learned to care for it. My hair is the last piece of me I need to learn to love. Well, and maybe my stretch marks.

My initial metaphor was incomplete. Learning to grow healthy hair is more like embarking on a new spiritual path. I am traveling to an unknown destination. Step by step. Loving myself more than I thought possible inch by inch.