Hair Diaries: Cut, Nurture, Build, Repeat
How does the saying go? “A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.”
A change is precisely what I needed, and exactly what I was afraid of. Our hair holds many stories that carry a lot of weight. I knew a change needed to come—both with my color-damaged hair and my life. Shaving my head last year was the boost I needed to begin that process.
I needed to cut off a job, old relationships and friendships that had run their course, and comfort. I needed to make intentional financial decisions that would put me in a position to finally move to New York City—my dream city. I needed to learn how to be confident in my own skin.
I cut off—and had my cousin graciously shave and shape up—the sides and back of my hair on January 1, 2019. New year, new me, right? I was only getting my feet wet. In late May 2019, I shaved the rest off. I thought I would regret it or struggle to learn how to embrace it, but I loved it. Around that time, I decided to work part time while I learned how to build my business, Social Soundtrack, and figure out how to gain income as a trainer, consultant, and writer. I was healing from career traumas and closing doors indefinitely to perpetual heartbreak. I was aggressively failing—or learning—as an entrepreneur, and my savings quickly began to dwindle. Working for myself through booking speaking gigs, sticking to my rates, and publishing paid articles wasn’t as easy as I thought it’d be, even with my years of experience.
About two months into my entrepreneurial journey, I decided to look for full-time work again for the sake of my savings account and landed a position in media for a nonprofit organization. I was grateful for the answered prayer and to find something I enjoy doing in the meantime while I learn how to build a solid side hustle until income is steady enough to quit.
I don’t think the time I took off from full-time work to nurture my dream was a waste. I learned a lot about myself, like what I truly want in life and that it’s okay to step into the unknown and break cycles. And it’s okay to go back to the drawing board to develop a better strategy.
I kept thinking, and sometimes still fall into the idea, that my business must branch out from the nonprofit sector. I kept thinking that the only way I can make it as a writer or entrepreneur is by approaching my work the way I approached advocacy, which was by putting out fires and reacting to social injustices. I think real transformation happens when we have the audacity to step into the unknown.
Years ago, I didn’t know if I had what it would take to go natural; I’d just figured out how to maintain my relaxed hair after nearly 13 years on the creamy crack. Plainly stated, I didn’t know if I wanted to say goodbye to my wraps and become confronted with my big ass forehead. But after heat damage, compounded by the stress of my first heartbreak in college, I went forward with the big chop. Thanks to endless YouTube tutorials, my hair grew into a TWA—accompanied by struggling twist outs, if I’m honest—and I learned how to break away from what I’d grown accustomed to by stepping into what my hair was born to do: be in its curly, natural state. Overtime, I’ve perfected three-strand twists and wash day routines. But it took cutting off the old to nurture the new.
When I cut my hair, it signaled something similar. That I could break away from what I’ve always known and, overtime, nurture the possibility of more. It comes naturally for me to talk about social justice and critique. It’s what I’ve known. But when I write or talk about Black music and how artists have reflected and dissented to the times, I’m in my element—my natural state. When I talk about music and creativity, I’m making a decision to heal and encourage my community to heal, and healing is activism. Joy is activism. I couldn’t get to that realization if I didn’t have the audacity to cut off what I’d grown accustomed to.
Even when we cut something off, we must build other things to take the space. Since shaving my head in 2019, I’m learning how to nurture the new growth that I have coming in. I’m experiencing that dreadful TWA phase all over again. I think shaving my head has changed its texture, so I’m testing new products and figuring out which oils are best suited for the new me.
Maybe I’m being fake meta about my hair, or maybe like many Black women, my hair is an expression and an extension of where I am in life. I finally live in Harlem, New York—my dream city. I’ve prayed a long time for this and I’m here. This current phase of my journey, in hair and life, calls for me to build structure and learn how to nurture the things I claim to desire—like an Esperanza Spalding-size afro. It’s a phase to tend and cultivate delicate ground. My hair says so much about my process in life. What I’m learning, what I’ve experienced, who I’m becoming.
Recently, I tried braiding my own hair. I could’ve gone straight for small box braids, which I’ve done before. They take forever to install, but they’re versatile. I decided instead to try braiding my hair halfway in cornrows and singles in the back. I feel more creative—with my hair and my work. I also feel free and light as these braids aren’t nearly as heavy as box braids, and took a fraction of time and hair to finish.
Nurturing new growth means protecting what is to come. I’ve been through roughly eight protective styles since my last hair cut in September 2019. I have to protect and maintain what I have in order to cultivate what I want to see, the possibility. Protective styling is almost like scaffolding against a building. I see scaffolding everywhere in New York; it’s a bit of structure for buildings and construction projects in progress. That’s what I am—like a protective style when you’re, like me, trying to grow your hair back—it’s a nice structure that may be Instagram ready, but it’s only the process for something bigger.
I thought I was making a bold statement when I shaved my head, and I certainly did. But I’m learning now that we also make bold statements when we spend hours upon hours nurturing our hair through the growing pains that is TWA. It’s a bold statement when I wear my braids or marley twists. It’s a bold statement when I try new styles instead of sticking to what I’ve always known or what’s comfortable. It’s a bold statement to embrace and accept myself through every little phase.