By the time I was two my hair was familiar with creme of nature relaxer.
When I got older I didn’t understand why they couldn’t just learn to do my hair until I got a taste of what my natural hair was like.

Between one and nineteen years old, I had a relaxer in my hair. I had different lengths from bra strap length to a bob, straight across bangs and side swept bangs.

By the time I was in my second year of college, maybe third, my hair started to fall out after a root touch up and I decided to cut my hair. I went through the ugliest of phases at first. I didn’t know what I was doing at all. But once my hair grew in its natural state, I experimented with color and that’s where my love for that came about.

I remember my grandmother telling me she hated my hair, that it must’ve been her punishment for however she might have treated me and this is how I’m retaliating. I wouldn’t say I was punishing her, but this was retaliation. She had control of what my hair did for 19 years and it was finally my turn to do as I pleased.

In 2013, my family and I booked a trip to the Dominican Republic. I was super bleach blonde with a false curl pattern. (I say false because the bleach alters the pattern). My mom suggested I do one more bleach bomb before we go to make sure my hair really pops!

Well. That was the end of my hair as I knew it. The curls dropped and I knew it wouldn’t survive the salt water for 40 days. So after arriving in DR, I cut my hair, short along with the sides. Long up top. A day or two passed and I still wasn’t content. I went to the barbershop and cut the sides/ back really low and left the top. I. Loved. It!

It was so different, so stylish, it’s so me! After coming home I played with color a bit, went back to blonde and then decided I wanted to let my hair grow. But in order to successfully achieve this, I need a blank canvas. I went bald.

This was literally the start of something new. It was so bold. So powerful. Felt so right and so good! I never felt more myself. It was like this weight lifted off of me. There was no pressure to hold any standard. It was just me in all my glory. So many friends complain and ask why I cut my hair and don’t let it grow; there’s so much to the story they’re not trying to find out. Being bald means being free. Means holding power. Means me.