“…that’s how my hair grows outta my head!”

Now that I have two kiddo’s it’s amazing to me how hard it is to even think about what to do next with my hair.  Yep, you read that right: think, not do.  Doing, is a whole other ball game.

A game unfortunately where I am not up to bat.  I will not be getting in the game.

Before I left for my regional team meetings I had so.so.so.much.to.do.  I had no brain space left to deal with my hair and so I did what any girl does when they have no plan: I blew it out into an afro and started cutting until it got to one shorter manageable length.  (As an aside, I also was interested in cutting out the straightening perm to get back to my natural curly hair texture).

After the cut, a lot of mousse & gel and a leave-in conditioner it looked like this yesterday when I packed up my car and headed off for Ann Arbor…

Here’s the problem: I don’t like it.  I don’t like to wear my hair natural.  I do it yes but usually as a last resort.

I spent 5 minutes debating about whether or not to gel it down and wear a wig (I have a really cute one), or throw in a phony-pony, or ask my friend Tamela to do some cheap, quickie corn-rows or *gasp* try to press it myself.  I don’t usually do a great job pressing my own hair, so I try to avoid it generally.

As I arrived at my meeting a lot of my fellow colleagues loved my hair, “it’s so great!”, “wow, I wish my hair did that!,” or “can I touch it, pretty please?”

The more compliments I got from my white InterVarsity staff colleagues the more I realized what my real issue is: internalized racism about black hair.  Not every black woman’s, but my own.

I love the natural hair look on so many black women, but on myself, I’m not content to wear my hair the way it grows out of my head because I have bought into the unhelpful lie that European, straight, thick hair is the standard of beauty.

I don’t ever press my hair to make it look like white girl hair, -not on a conscious level at least- but I realized that I am generally more comfortable in professional work settings -such as the one I’m in this week- with straight hair or “tame” hair because I wonder what a short curly afro will communicate about me and my ability to do my job well or take seriously being part of the team that manages 4 states and 50 Universities.  Yes, it’s that deep to me.  My hair.  Go figure.

This sad truth was solidified to me earlier this year when my beautiful friend and recent graduate of the ministry Dave & I do at Western was given a hard time about the way she wore her hair in a professional setting.  Shereena works in the fashion industry and was given grief about wearing her hair in a short tightly and neatly curled afro.  She responded back, “what am I supposed to do?  This is how my hair grows outta my head!”

Shereena & her new hubby, Esosa

I loved her response and it also challenged me.  (FYI, Shereena is a gifted fashion consultant and you can find her blog on really helpful fashion tips here.)

Today, as I readied myself to leave for another day of business meetings -interviews for hiring specifically- I took that last look in the mirror and thought about how “it will have to do,” and about how I don’t feel pretty, or cute or confident with my hair just the way it is.

I asked God for help.  I believe there is a problem when I’m not comfortable with the ‘skin I’m in’ so to speak.  I’ve worked long and hard to accept the roll of my belly, the unfortunate size of my breasts, the thickness of my legs, the light-ness of my skin, my obnoxiously long big-toes, my boats for feet, my buck-teeth, etc. but I’m sadly just realizing I have one more to add to the list to eventually work through: my hair.

It’s with some sadness to write this evening.  To come to terms with the fact that I prefer almost any other style for my hair other than the way God made it to grow out of my head.  That’s so not cool of me.

Like most areas where things in my life are amuck, I’m committed to work on it.  I want to ‘own’ my hair.  After all God wasn’t suprised I came out this light, with big curly hair, long toes, big feet & buck teeth.  Why on earth should I then have a problem with God has made?

Has he not made all things beautiful?  The mountains and well, my hair?!  And, yours too for that matter!

Well, it’s after midnight my friends…  If I were to give in to temptation I could go on and on about the implications of all this on my future hair plans, how it may contradict an earlier post I wrote to black women addressing our hair issues or defending natural hair, or permed hair, or braided hair.

But, I need sleep.  There is so much more to say though!  What do you think?  My supervisors wife, Gwyneth talked to me about tonight (she’s white) & I loved her perspective as an older white woman –just as sweet as can be.

Anyway, good night!