Burning sensations have always been a bittersweet experience for us black girls. I still remember eagerly sitting on the kitchen chair, watching smoke dance around the hot-comb that my mom always heated up on the back burner of the stove. As much as I was eager for my naps to be transformed into silk, I also was afraid that the burning metal would graze my knuckles as I held my ear down so that my mom could catch my stubborn edges.

After the burning of hot metal came the burning of perm creams, and I would never let my mom know when the burning started until I really couldn’t take it anymore. I would grind it until it felt like the cream would burn a hole right through my head – instead of holes I was left with scabs.

Eventually, after watching my mom’s transition, I too decided to return to natural. The transitioning process was way too painful for me so one day after being frustrated with my hair falling out as I tried to comb through the two textures I decided to do my big chop. To this day I don’t regret my decision of returning to natural, but what I do wish I could correct are my initial thoughts that, once I became a naturalista all my black girl self-acceptance work would be done.

Since returning to natural I have discovered so many complexes within my mind that I was unaware even existed. I was happy to reveal my natural hair to the world, but only when my curl pattern had been manipulated with a twist out or braid out. I loved brushing my hair up into a high puff, but only if my edges were slicked “to the gods”! I claimed to be fully embracing of my natural hair and encouraged others to do the same, but when it came time for me to go to a job interview or fancy event I was still staring in the mirror asking myself, “What am I going to do with this hair?” – and the answer was always either flat iron it or slick it back into a neat bun.

I tend to do a lot of self-reflection so one day I sat with myself and asked, “Are you truly comfortable with your natural hair?” The answer was no. I desperately wanted to be, but at that specific time, I was not. That’s when I started to think deeply about where my standards for hair beauty derived from, and immediately I remembered my time spent under hot combs and burning hair creams. When I was a little girl and it was time to get ready for a wedding or any other special event, we had our hair pressed because that’s what our families were taught that elegance looked like, and if anyone’s perm or press was not fresh, they were the topic of everyone’s conversation because how dare they not clean up?

Fast forward to a few months ago, I was preparing to get my graduation pictures taken, and as always I was asking, “what am I going to do with my hair?” The first thing that came to mind was pulling out the heat protectant and flat iron. After playing with that idea for a while I decided against it, I then contemplated box braids, an up-do or a curly wig. Eventually, a light bulb flicked on in my head and I went back to my self-reflection. Why was my afro not an option? Why did I feel that my hair in its natural state was okay for mall trips, but not okay for graduation pictures?

With every decision I make, I take into consideration the way it will affect little black girls who look up to me and the black babies I will one day raise. Representation is so important, and it shapes our minds from a very young age. It is a lack of representation that made me blind to the option of wearing my afro under a grad cap to begin with.

When I am blessed with motherhood I will tell my babies to love themselves. I will tell them to embrace all of their being. I will encourage them to be comfortable in their skin. I will let them know that despite what anyone tells them, their dark skin and nappy hair does not need a stamp of approval. I will tell them that they, in their natural state, do not need to be passed through a refining fire. I will let them know that they are the fire.

It is easy to say all of these things, but it’s not as easy to live up to them. However, when I tell my babies that black hair is professional, elegant and not in need of taming I can use my graduation pictures as a reference point. I will not only tell them that they should embrace themselves, I will show them.

Natural hair is truly beautiful, but the road to unlearning the lessons that suggest it is everything but that is long and at times painful. Unlike my former beliefs, returning to natural is just the very beginning of that winding road.

Love yourself through the process by engaging in moments of self-reflection where you ask yourself why you feel the way you feel about your naps and kinks. Don’t be embarrassed by your lack of self-acceptance, just work harder and dismantle the thought processes that are acting as a wall between you and your own love.

Be honest with yourself and don’t be afraid of your own honesty.

Breanna Chanelle

Writing since March 2017 · 1 story contributed