Many moons ago, I used to have this pesky little habit of twirling my hair. I would twirl my hair when I was happy, I would twirl my hair when I was sad, twirl my hair belly laughing, even twirled my hair watching whatever Halloween movie in utter suspense.
Twirling my hair was my jam.
As the moons turned to crescents and faint owl shapes, I stopped twirling my hair.
Anxiety packed its bags and came to my house for what was supposed to be an overnight night stay here or there.
But they stayed and oh boy are we having a great time!
During the stay, I picked up an even “pet peevier” habit of pulling my hair. Out.
The more intense life got with Me, the more I would tug. One strand, curl, beaded braid, or finger wave at a time, I would tug.
After a rough couple of years, lots of crooked wigs, the whole epic glue debacle, and a lot of honorable “Mommy your hair is so funny” mentions from my son, I decided in June of 2018 a change would need to be made.
Internally more than anything.
I decided that I no longer would hide behind my hair, using it as an escape route and filtering my feelings.
I decided I wanted to allow my roots to grow beautifully and naturally in whatever form they choose.
I decided this time around I would show myself some strength, security, and sacrifice.
I woke up on 06/10/2018 with the bit of hair I managed to salvage, sticking straight up like a warhead, and said, “I’m locking my hair, I’m done!”
My appointment was set, and I was ready to go.
Or so I thought.
That day it seemed that everything that could go wrong before a 10:00 am appointment could, did.
My son was running a slight fever due to teething, and he was cranky and wanted to snuggle with mom all day, my car was running hot just out of the magic jiffy lube blue, my funds were running low because my direct deposit still hadn’t processed yet and I was running out of patience.
I called my hair stylist twice. I was going to cancel. I for sure thought I needed to cancel.
The first time I hung up after the third ring.
The second time I called and stayed on the line giving myself the “Breathe, you got this champ” pep talk until the line was answered.
I crumbled into a wimpy pile of tears and explained all that is keeping Me from the change I so desperately needed.
I started to pull; it was familiar it provided a sense of comfort.
I…I needed the comfort.
I stopped myself quickly, when I heard my stylist say, “it’s fine girl, come on over and we’ll figure something out later.”
I choose to turn the day around and lean into the unknown which is something I loathe doing.
Breathed a sigh of relief, dropped my kiddo off with his father, got some quick fluids maintenance on car and by the time my hair was loc-d and done the funds were in my account and I was able to make good on appointment measures.
That was almost 5 years ago.
5 years of trials, displacement both literally and mentally.
5 years of strength, self-scrutiny and self-love and the balance of pulling everything out that means Me no good.
My hair represents the joys of my ongoing strength.
No matter what trends, styles, pressures of social society and stigmas were placed on Me throughout these 5 years I have shown strength.
Each loc represents a time where I could have let my mind ravage over Me wildly and corrupt my good nature.
Each loc represents where I held on and where I prevailed.
Some locs have lint in them from the times I were displaced and needed to make a cot bedding out of blankets in my car.
Some locs are colored representation a time when I wanted to feel a positive change.
Some locs are shorter than the others to remind Me of the damage done when I pull negatively from the roots.
Some locs are intertwined with others to remind Me it’s okay to join someone to make an impact overall.
Some locs are thinner, dryer then the others due to the medications.
Some locs grow wild to represent my instinctive nature.
All the locs are Me.
5 years of a magical, amazing journey I find the most strength in. No more pulling. Only nourishing and excitement during semiannual length checks.
Each day, whether I wear my hair in a high 80’s style pony or a swift low space bun I am so incredibly thankful for each loc-d testimony of strength.