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After I’ve Shaved My Head: More Than a Year Later
So, I suppose it’s time to give an update on this post.
For those who are just joining us and who’d love a summary: I realized that my love of my hair, which I’d been chemically straightening since I was 12, was actually a deep-rooted, eurocentric…I dunno what to call it…self-racism?…that had come from growing up in a mostly White town where I’d been taught that I was only acceptable when I could be likened to European beauty and behavioral ideals.
Put even simpler: I’d been taught the best parts of me were the parts that were the most “White.”
So, in honor of my daughter and myself, I shaved my head last year. And I finished up the article talking about how beautiful I’d finally seen myself to be. I’d love to say that from that day on, I marched forward with a full understanding of who I was, a pride in my appearance, and an unshakable love for my hair. Unfortunately for me, lying isn’t really my thing.
Y’all, this last year has been a struggle-coaster of epic, yet interesting, proportions.
Right after getting my head shaved, I loved it. My husband loved it. My children loved it. But, strangely, every time I’d get new hair growth, I’d scrunch my nose and say that it looked awkward. Initially, I used the heat of summer as an excuse. After all, there’s…
