This blog about my natural hair journey has taken me a lot longer than I anticipated, because I realize how personal it is to talk about ones hair and the stories around it, especially for Black women. Before I talk about my journey, I need to say this, I unequivocally support all of the ways Black women choose to wear their hair, because no matter what we choose to do, it can be seen as a political statement. While my relaxed hair did not feel authentic to me, that does not mean it is the same feeling for another Black woman. We are not a monolith. We are beautiful because of our differences, not in spite of them. My story is mine, and mine alone.

The Inception of My Hair Story

I never saw my Mommy’s natural hair outside of pictures from her youth. From the moment I was born until the day she died, her hair was processed, cut, dyed, in braids, in weaves, hidden. As a woman who frequently took large doses of prednisone to treat her sarcoidosis, my mom didn’t have the opportunity to explore the beauty of her hair as it thinned, changed textures, and would fall out in times of stress. Looking back on it now, I realize how much resilience it took for my Mommy to keep going with the punches and to continue on the Black hair journey, when so many would’ve just cut their hair off and opted for wigs. 

Like my Mommy, for most of my life I have had my hair processed, cut, dyed, in braids, hidden. I was around 6 or 7 when I had my first “kiddie perm”. I wanted my hair to be silky smooth and long like my friends, so I figured the only way to do that was to ask my mom to straighten my hair. And to be honest, I knew it would be easier for my mom if my hair was more manageable. (My mom didn’t learn how to do hair from her mom or sisters, and while she could do the basics, her hand dexterity would sometimes falter in her flares, making it harder to do my hair for long periods of time.) So, without knowing what I was asking for or the impact it would have on my view of self, I started the first phase of my hair journey into straightening my hair and seeking to obtain the beauty I saw in my friends’ hair. 

Quick break to explain that what I felt at 6 and probably even younger was the internalization of Western standards of beauty. I looked at my friends with long, straight hair and envied it. I thought their hair was more beautiful, more accepted, more loved. So I sought to have it, at any expense. If you’ve never had a relaxer, or even a “kiddie perm”, there is a level of discomfort that cannot be escaped. There are hours of time lost in the processing, experiences lost in trying to not get your hair wet, and for me, loss of self in not accepting my natural beauty.

The Relaxer Days

For 20 years I went through stages of relaxing my hair, cutting it when it got too damaged or I got bored, dying it when I started to go grey at 17, and still envying my friends who had hair that I thought was more beautiful than mine. But you know what’s funny? In college, I started to envy my friends who were natural and had the manageable curly hair that was becoming the new acceptable standard of beauty for Black women. 

With the advent of social media, a renewed Natural Hair Movement began to emerge around 2006 that had many of my classmates giving up the creamy crack to embrace their natural curly/coily hair journey. But as with most things, a hair hierarchy based on white supremacy began to emerge that again left me feeling like I didn’t fit in. While I was unsure of what my natural hair would look like, I knew that it would’t be the loose curly hair of my friends. From the pictures of my mom in the 1970s, I knew my hair would likely be gravity defying and tightly curled or coily. And with hair like that, it meant that I would have to redefine what it means to look “professional” in all white spaces. Given that I still planned to go into medicine at that time, I was not ready to make the change, until my world flipped upside down.

In October 2011, my Mommy took her last breath, and forever changed my view of the world. With such a traumatic event, my hair started it’s own journey of falling out due to grief and depression. I remember going to my hairdresser and cutting my hair into a bob because there were no other options. If I had been emotionally prepared, I could have started the natural journey then, but the timing was not right. It would take me a little over two years to actually cut my hair off and embrace my natural coils. I had to slowly rethink and retrain my brain to what I consider to be beautiful. With the growth of IG, I was able to see photos of Black women who looked like me with beautiful afros of all shapes and sizes, bantu knots, twist outs, and braid outs. I was able to stop internalizing the thoughts of “straight hair = beautiful” or “loose curls = beautiful” and replace them with thoughts of “strong hair = beautiful” and “my hair = beautiful.” 

The Natural Days

January 2014 – I cut my relaxed hair off and started embracing my natural hair journey. To say I was surprised to see my natural hair would be an understatement. Here I was thinking that my hair needed to be tamed in order to be beautiful, but every little gravity-defying coil and shrinking twist of my natural hair was far more beautiful than the limp strands that I used to admire. My only regret in embracing my natural hair and allowing it to grow, was that I didn’t do it sooner. 

I constantly wonder how a teenage Jasmine might have felt about herself if she had been natural at the time. While she was already a force to be reckoned with, there’s no telling how different she would have been or how her relationships with friends and significant others would have been.

For seven years, I let my coils do what they wanted to, only cutting or dying when I needed a change, never straightening them, forever allowing them to be seen. While I’ve been “woke” since I was a child, there’s something about being natural that woke me up all over again. Slowly but surely, I started to care less and less about what people would think and more about what it meant to be authentic to who I am. It was in this search for authenticity, that I allowed my lifelong love of locs to emerge and ultimately become the new (and likely final) phase of my natural hair journey.

The Journey to Locs

I don’t remember how old I was when I fell in love with locs, but I remember the feeling of awe I had when I saw them in their beauty and strength. My Mommy’s most long-term hairdresser, Ms. Vivianne, was a beautiful Jamaican woman with locs almost down to her thighs. I remember sitting in her home salon year after year, wondering how her hair could grow that long and in that way, and also a bit cheekily, why she never did anyone’s hair like her own. 

There’s also a romanticized story in my head that I’ve always been drawn to locs because of the Jamaican blood in my veins, fighting its way to be present, even if I’ve never been able to find my paternal grandparent’s family. While I’m sure there’s some truth in that, I think what speaks to me about locs, in all of their shapes, sizes, and forms, is the sense of freedom I feel when I look at them. For me, locs are the embodiment of not conforming, redefining beauty, and turning perceptions of cleanliness and godliness on their heads. In essence, locs are authentically me. 

While I’ve wanted to loc my hair for most of my life, due to the many instances of hair discrimination and politicization, I never knew if it was the right time to do so. As a Black woman who exists in mostly white settings, I have had to field the hair questions, comments, and even hair touches without consent. So when is the right time to go even further into the natural journey with locked hair that may be deemed unprofessional, too political, too Black? Well, after the year that was 2020, I decided there was no time like the present. 

So here we are. Of all the forms of locs, I decided that Sisterlocks would give me the vibe I’ve always had inside me. On July 8, 2021, I started my loc journey with 404 beautifully complex and intricate locs. While it is a big change, it is a change that I am embracing with self-compassion and love because I am more than ready for the growth that will come with it. Every day I look in the mirror and feel like I’m seeing Jasmine for the first time. I’m working to accept the person that I see looking back at me with baby locs and a chubbier face. I know that I will be stronger for taking the time to be my authentic self, demanding to be seen. 

To support my natural hair journey and other Black women’s hair stories, please take the time to learn about the CROWN Act, and why it is important to ensure there is protection against discrimination based on race-based hairstyles in the workplace and public schools.