To be Natural

I did something this weekend, something that I’ve been building the courage to do since last year, 2013.

Now, in the midst of doing what I’ve wanted to do, I’ve also done a few new things: I went camping in one of my friend’s family’s backyard. And I make no exaggeration when I say that I cannot handle sleeping in a tent, in forty-degree weather, in a sleeping bag at night. Plus two snorers on either side of me. Cold, hard ground and snoring. So, yes, I said ‘Fuck this shit’, got up, went into the main house, and slept in my friend’s brother’s bed and was warm and cozy and not having snoring in my ear.

Oh, and I can barely roast marshmallows over the fire, much less hot dogs. But at least I didn’t burn myself. *winks*

But what I wanted to do was transition my hair from permed to natural.

I have been growing out the perm in my hair since October of 2013, when I strengthened my resolve to let my real hair come to fruition. My friend’s mother (who is the Busiest Woman In The World, No Seriously, She Drives A School Bus For A Living-A Freaking School Bus Full Of Shrieking Children, Do You Hear Me?!) agreed to cut the permed strands of my hair off and teach me how to take care of my new natural.

She took great care in cutting and moisturizing my hair and then she told me to go and look in the mirror.

And I liked what I saw.

I liked what I saw because it was a shock. I liked what I saw because it was a difference, a step to me liking me more and more. I liked what I saw because it was mine.

My hair. Mine. Not a shame that is hidden beneath perms and weaves. It’s just me, me on top of my head. And here’s the main thing: there are a multitude of personal reasons why each black woman wears her hair (and doesn’t wear her hair) a certain way. It is infantile to create a binary that states that black women who invest in perms, weaves, etc. hate themselves and black women who go the natural way love themselves. We are human beings and our reasons for what we do and do not do in regards to our aesthetics are our reasons and our reasons alone. And those reasons deserve to be respected with discretion and the acknowledgement that someone outside of our bodies is also very much outside of our experiences.

And even when we do do things out of self-hatred (such as bleaching our skin, or putting those perms in our hair, as was the case with me), we are still not worthy of ire and scrutiny. Rather, the scrutiny and ire needs to be directed at the massive cultural practices that inform us day in and day out that we are neither beautiful nor wholly existent. Racism and the exclusionary standards that come with it is not our fault.

I am loving my new hair, now. I love the tiny, thick spiral curls. I love the poofy-poofness after I moisturize it. I love the sponginess of it when I squeeze it between my fingers. I love the scent of my moisturizer, unfettered by a flat iron, in my hair. I love the way my hair is lifted from my face by mother evolution so that my face is openly seen.

I love my hair.

For the most part, my friends and my mother have been deeply supportive of me. My friends have said that they are excited to see what I do with it as it continues to grow out. My mother has cautioned me about the assumptions to be made about me (especially during a job interview) that would include, but would not be limited to, being a butch lesbian and having an unintelligible accent. But in the end, she is ecstatic that I’m ecstatic and that is all that matters for her.

But today, I had a true challenge-the first challenge. I planned to go for a power walk around town. I love my hair…but I am not magically ignorant to the social stigma that women of color face when they go natural. I have cut my hair so short that it resembles Lupita Nyong’o’s:

http://www.breakfastwithaudrey.com.au//wp-content/myuploads//Making-her-American-film-debut-12-Years-Slave-actress-Lupita-Nyongo-went-colorful-makeup-look-film-LA-premiere-earlier-week.jpg


Derail commence

Holy fucking shit, is that woman gorgeous as all hell, or what? No wonder she is such a big inspiration for me!

Later, I want to get a hairstyle much like Jill Scott’s:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/going-out-guide/files/2013/05/Jill-Scott-1-Low-803x1024.jpg

Or…

http://images3.mtv.com/uri/mgid:file:docroot:mtv.com:/crop-images/2013/09/12/jill-scott.jpg?enlarge=false&matte=true&matteColor=black&quality=0.85

Derail finis.

I worried, as I put my jacket on…what would happen if I went out there, with this new hair, to walk around my neighborhood with my not-as-daily-as-I-should-be-doing-exercise-routine? What would happen? Would cars no longer stop for me? Would their drivers no longer wave at me? Would some point and laugh? Ask me when my next chemotherapy treatment would be? Blatantly ignore me and walk the other way? Draw their children closer? Call the police?

It was with these thoughts in mind that I finally opened the door and began to walk.

And I am so, so happy to say that none of the above (as far as I saw) happened. People that I saw and saw me waved nicely just as much as they always did. As there are no police at my door, I assume that no one called 911. I got in twenty minutes of good exercise and I it felt good. I want to keep doing this more and more often until I completely shake off that teensy bit of shame and censure from my shoulders.

It felt good to literally and figuratively open that door and walk around proudly, in the stark daylight with my hair. I felt naked. I felt free. I felt me and me felt wonderful.

I’m a natural woman today, and I love it. I really, really do.