CONNECT, a yanasisters publication (Fall 2022)

Photo of Cozette Teasley Pointer

FOUNDER & PRESIDENT

Connection Coach, Speaker, Retreat Facilitator, Author, and Attorney Imani Monica McCullough is a vibrant voice for women worldwide. Through her transformative platform, YANAsisters, she thrives on helping women live more passionate and authentic lives.

MY HAIR? I AM NOT

Chanell St. Junious is a healer, writer, and attorney who mothers three amazing kiddos and a fur baby.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

Kellyn McGee is a licensed attorney and mediator, a former law professor and Dean of Students, a writer and editor, and a certified yoga teacher. At her essence, she is a learner and teacher.

Dr. Gloria McDaniel is a mom, grandmother, friend, and lifetime educator. Gloria currently serves as a professor at a university in Chicago and spends her free time recreating her mother’s recipes, traveling, watching 70’s movies, and listening to music.

Nina Winston is a hair stylist and salon owner who enjoys connecting with women and reminding them of the beauty within. Outside of work, Nina enjoys spending time with her children and grandchildren.

Shantell Cannon is a wife and mother of four beautiful daughters, “Shanti” to an amazing granddaughter (with one more on the way!), flight attendant, teacher, encourager, and lover of all things beautiful.

Tanya Poindexter is a dynamic leader with more than 18 years of Human Resources, Talent Management, and Leadership Development experience. She is also an executive coach and consultant, focusing on leadership development – but her favorite title is “GiGi.”

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HAIR PEACE

by Dr. Gloria McDaniel

As the daughter of a “tall, dark-skinned, kinky-haired, Texan” and a “small-framed Panamanian woman with a light complexion,” Gloria recalls how having kinkier hair than her Panamanian cousins shaped her early notions of beauty – and how she eventually freed herself from everyone else’s perceptions to find her peace.

COZY by Chanell St. Junious

“Our hair journey is often no more than an outward manifestation of the many things that are going on inside of us.” These wise words are from Chanell, who shares how she went from “hiding” behind long braids to finding her most authentic style and self.

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THIS MEANS WAR by Shantell Cannon

When going through a life-threatening medical challenge, one might think hair would be the least of our concerns. Not! Read first-hand how Shantell learned that she is not her hair.

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WHIP MY HAIR by Tanya Poindexter

As a young girl, Tanya was bullied because of the texture of her hair. Read about how dimming her light became “a habit that would last another 30 years” – until she realized that owning one’s beauty is self-love.

LETTER FROM THE FOUNDER

Dearhearts,

I still remember the day when my beautician asked if I had been doing something different with my hair. The way she asked made me instantly know that whatever she thought I was doing wasn’t a good thing. And, as she parted my hair to show me the newly thinning spot in the crown of my head, I wanted to cry.

Actually, I did cry, both then and later.

I cried as I remembered my mom’s journey with alopecia, and her father’s journey with alopecia.

I cried as the dermatologist explained all the things we could try, but that likely would only slow down what she believed was inevitable.

I cried as I gave up my dream of being the girl with long, beautiful, natural locs that accentuated her eclectic flow.

I cried as a woman at a natural hair show told me that I shouldn’t wear a natural hair t-shirt if I was wearing extensions or a weave.

I cried after outings with other women, where natural hair care was often THE NUMBER ONE TOPIC; and I had nothing to contribute about which products I used on my store-bought ‘do.

I cried as, despite my best efforts (and lots of positive thinking), the small thinning section kept growing.

Then, one day I got tired of crying. I got tired of covering. I got tired of being afraid of... me.

So, in an act of full surrender — and because I am in a “warmer season of life” where my hair was threatening to suffocate me (lol) — I shaved it all off.

And guess what? On that day, I DID NOT CRY.

On that day, I rejected the notion that I need hair to be feminine, sexy, or beautiful. And I finally realized that beauty is in the eye of the beholder – and the most important beholder is ME!

Did I feel naked the first time I left the house with no hat (or hair)? Was I scared to log on to my first corporate call with my freshly shaved head? Do I sometimes still wonder if people are being kind when they tell me I’ve got the right face for this? Absolutely!!! But with each passing day, those things matter less. All I know is that for the first time in forever, I finally feel FREE.

And I know I’m not alone... Talking to other women has made me realize that although I often felt like I was the only one, my hair journey is not unique. Whether it’s coming to terms with alopecia, dealing with temporary hair loss due to another medical issue, being comfortable rocking a weave or wig that you love, or simply learning to love the straight, wavy, curly, kinky, relaxed, texturized, pressed, natural, twisted, braided, locked, long, short, shaved, or bald ’do that we’ve been blessed with — we’ve all been on a journey of self-love that likely started early in life and continues each day.

That’s why in this issue we’re talking openly about what our hair journeys have taught us. Every single share is a reminder that we shouldn’t be so quick to judge each other — and even more, that no matter what we choose to do with our hair, or what life chooses for us, the most important thing is that we learn not to judge ourselves.

Love and Light,

Imani

P.S. Thank you to Cozette, Gloria, Chanell, Nina, Shantell, Tanya and all of the other yanasisters who shared hair journeys in this issue!!!

YOGA IS A PRAYER

by Kellyn McGee

As I reflected on my hair journey for this issue, the yogic principle of Ahimsa kept tapping me on the shoulder. “Ahimsa” translates to noninjury or non-violence, to others and to self. My hair journey hasn’t been that, not physically and, most importantly, not spiritually.

The language I used when referring to chemically straightening my hair –“relaxing” it — is itself a push-pull with injury, physical and spiritual. While the strands and roots were being “relaxed” (from what stress, exactly?), the process was not. The time, the smell, the burns, the money – nothing about it was relaxing. Yet, the outcome was worth it, I believed.

Until I didn’t.

Even though I stopped believing in the “creamy crack,” being the over-analyzer that I am, the decision to free my hair from its perpetually relaxed state was not quick. I consulted friends and the internet about the path: the how (big chop or no?), the what (so many products, so many ways to style the hair), the when (how long would it take to get from relaxed to…what?).

I never questioned why, though. As I was making the decision to “go natural,” I always thought “why did I ever relax my hair,” even after my mother said, “you wanted straight hair” when I asked her. It still wasn’t a good enough answer. It didn’t get to the root (ha!) of the question. And because there was not a good enough answer, I had no reason to continue, no reason not to be my true self.

June 4, 2008. Barack Obama clinched the Democratic Presidential nomination (well, he wouldn’t become the official nominee until later that summer, but…details.) I had no idea when I wore that shirt in the picture to the hair salon that the day would also be significant for me personally. I had been growing out the relaxer for about a year, with my stylist cutting about a quarter inch every few weeks.

On that historic day in June, I was under the dryer and she kneeled down and said “I think it’s time.” I didn’t know what she was talking about because I’d thought it would take 18 months to grow it all out. Yet, it was time. I left the salon that day with hair the way it grew from within (with some color enhancement). The next day I asked a friend to meet me for lunch because I had something to show her. “It’s like it was always supposed to be like that,” she said, smiling.

In the many, many years since I’ve embraced what always was, I became (and released being) a “product junkie,” always on the search for that cream, lotion, gel that would work magic. I’ve learned what my highporosity hair needs and needs to avoid. I’ve moved from coloring my hair with chemicals to dyeing it with henna.

It’s easy to look back since June 4, 2008 and forget all the frustrations:

• Products that didn’t work (which equated to money down the drain)

• People — Black women mostly — providing their criticisms: “you could never work at my firm,” “what are you going to do with all that hair” (asked with a scowl), “all you need now is to go down to Auburn Avenue and get some big hoop earrings” (um, no, I don’t. I don’t need extra enhancement just because my hair isn’t long and straight), Black women raising their fists at me (because now I’m frfr Black???)

• The man I was dating saying, “you know, your hair isn’t like (a mixed-race girl we knew).” Of course I knew that. And I didn’t want it to be.

I had, in fact, felt my hair in all the years of relaxing it. I knew when I needed a “touchup”; I could feel the rollercoasters, as I called the new growth. So I knew what my hair was under all the chemicals.

All of this was the opposite of Ahimsa. And some of the “injury” was self-imposed. Like the great desire for my hair to grow down, not round — until I said that to a man who’d complimented my hair. He responded, “but you’re defying gravity.” I love that, and yes, I was actively rejecting a compliment! I also had to stop pulling knots out of my hair and become more intentional to either go get some shears and cut them out or keep my hands out of my hair.

This hair of mine and my embrace of it is a work in progress. Recently I noticed that it wasn’t growing and realized that I wasn’t giving it the love and care it needed. I did a severe trim and started a three-week journey towards rebuilding. And that journey has been educational and rejuvenating. I’ve also considered a headband wig so I can leave my hair twisted and unmanipulated for a few weeks, a consideration that’s come after frustration about growth and chasing grays.

There are, and will be, days when I look in the mirror, frown, and wonder what is going on up there. But I’ve learned that the best way to deal with frustration, disappointment, and “imperfection” is to approach it with love and compassion. And step away from the mirror and bad lighting.

Ahimsa.

ALL OF THIS WAS THE OPPOSITE OF AHIMSA. AND SOME OF THE “INJURY” WAS SELF-IMPOSED.

JERRYCE

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME TO CARE LESS ABOUT HOW IT LOOKS FOR OTHERS AND TO CARE MORE ABOUT HOW IT MAKES ME FEEL. TRINA

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME THE TRUE DEFINITION OF SELF ACCEPTANCE.

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME THAT BEING GRAY IS LIKE A PUNK-ROCK MOVE FOR MIDDLE-AGED LADIES; IT GOES AGAINST THE GRAIN OF CONVENTIONAL BEAUTY AND SHOWS I’M NOT ASHAMED OF MY AGE.

ANGELA

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME TO TAKE FULL CONTROL OF MY LIFE BY BECOMING MENTALLY STRONG, AS WELL AS PHYSICALLY FIT, WHILE STAYING SPIRITUALLY SOUND. E. LEVERNE

My PeaceHair

BY GLORIA MCDANIEL

ironic how our selfconcepts around some of the most personal things aren’t formed within ourselves at all, but in the messages we receive from others.

I was in a unique situation. My daddy was a tall, dark-skinned, kinky-haired, Texan and my mom was a smallframed Panamanian woman with a light complexion.

I think my mom hoped for a baby that looked more like her, but needless to say — the Texas side won out and I was born a brownskinned, extra tall girl with semikinky hair that I should have been taught to love. But, that was kind of hard when I heard my mom say – “I wish I had married Richard… then your hair wouldn’t have been so nappy.” I think I was eight when I heard those words during

the weekly sit-by-the stove, press and curl with grease burning my neck, Saturday night ritual!

It was at that moment that the complex about my hair began. I don’t think I really noticed all the differences between me and my Panamanian cousins before then. It was a turning point in more ways than one. It was clear that I could never be as pretty as them. Their hair was curly, longer, and much easier to handle. I certainly became super-cognizant of the idea of “good” hair at that point.

This also happened to be the time when the practice of getting “perms” became popular. So, although I didn’t understand what my mama was letting the neighbor do to me in her kitchen – I certainly felt the worst burning I’ve ever experienced and then had to deal with the aftermath, which included most of my hair falling out. Imagine all of this happening by the time I was ten years old.

So what I learned is this: (1) curlier or straighter hair was better than mine, (2) my hair had to have something “done” to it in order for it to be acceptable, and (3) my hair would never be considered beautiful in its natural state. I would actually hide myself when my hair got washed. It was like a sign of being “less than.”

Fast forward to high school. It was the time when everyone was sporting their afros. I couldn’t even do that right. My hair was kinky, but not kinky enough for a cool afro. I couldn’t just let my hair be loose like my cousins, and I couldn’t just wash it and use a pick to make it look cool like Angela Davis’s. I didn’t fit anywhere.

I have tried perms, braids, twists and everything in between. It has taken all these years and all these styles in order for me to finally feel free enough to do WHATEVER I want to do with my hair. My family, society, fashion magazines, and myriad other images and messages from the media have influenced my decisions over time. It’s amazing how much all of this has come to matter to us, to me. There have been times when I have literally worn a style I didn’t like – or passed on wearing my hair in a way that made me comfortable - because I was worried about what others would think.

I’m not proud of the fact that it took nearly 60 years for me to FINALLY come to the realization that I can do what I want. I can cover it up if I want to. I can add hair or sport braids. I can just wash my (finally unpermed for the past 10 years) hair, put on a headband, and go! My choice!

I never told my mom how she made me feel all those years ago when she would compare my hair to that of other family members. I don’t think she knew how damaging her words were to my psyche. Although it has taken lots of years for me to dig out of the “I want any hair other than mine” phase – it finally happened!

These days, I may wear braids, or twists, or a wig, or a headband – but trust me – I have finally gotten to the point where I am happy with my halfway kinky, thin in some spots, un-permed, short but healthy tresses. I don’t let the media or anyone’s comments (this still happens, SMH) prescribe what I do with it either.

I am finally free to just be me and do what I want with MY sometimes-nappy ’do.

COZY

BY CHANELL ST. JUNIOUS

In college, my signature look was long braids and red lipstick. Men who hadn’t spoken to me the week before would suddenly take notice when I showed up on campus with the braids cascading down my back. The braids gave me instant validation. Subconsciously,

I began to value the girl with the long braids more than I valued myself without them. Wearing braids became an addiction. I would often take the braids out, perm my hair, then get them put right back in the next day. My selfworth became tied to my fake tresses.

One evening I had a date with the man who would eventually become my first husband. I had permed my hair but wasn’t scheduled to get my hair braided until the next day. He saw my long straight hair and said, “you have long hair… why do you wear braids?” I gave him a long made-up explanation about the convenience of braids, but the reality was that I had great insecurity about showing up in the world wearing my actual hair. Long or not, I was so in the habit of being “the girl with the braids” that I discounted myself without them.

In my mid-twenties I would often find myself looking in the mirror saying, “God thank you for my long healthy hair…” I didn’t know anything about manifestation back then, but I would murmur this like a prayer. In hindsight what I was really saying was

“please give me value… help me to fit in… please allow people to keep finding me worthy.” My hair length and hairstyles became like a costume. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my hair became my security blanket. Long, bone-straight hair was in… so I mindlessly gave the invisible crowd what they wanted. I subconsciously became a copy of every woman

I thought others found beautiful. Left to my own devices I would have cut all of my hair off and worn a boy cut, but I wasn’t yet confident enough to pull it off.

I eventually married and divorced the man who’d encouraged me to release the braids. I went to law school, graduated, and moved from Louisiana to Georgia. As painful as the transition was, I had been given an opportunity to start over. I was in a new city, with a new

profession, and a great need to figure out who I actually was.

One day, I asked a friend to babysit my daughters. I found the nearest barber shop, nervously walked in, and sat in the first available chair. “Cut it all off,” I said. The barber tried to talk me out of it, but I had made up my mind. He finally began cutting the length off with scissors. As the hair fell, I felt my chest tighten with panic. But, once I heard the sound of the clippers and felt them on my scalp, the panic was miraculously replaced with great peace and comfort. My eyes filled with tears. I felt wrapped in the warmth of God’s presence. This haircut was symbolic of me cutting all strands to the bondage of other people’s opinions about how I needed to show up in the world. With the Holy Spirit’s prompting, I willingly

released the need to fit anyone else’s standard of beauty. I felt the freedom to be who I was becoming.

After the cut, the barber removed the cape. I was met with the approval of the brothers in the shop. I looked at my reflection with new eyes. I could actually see myself. The low cut left me nothing to hide behind. I had never been so exposed before. That day marked the beginning of the journey to my true self.

After that day, I began to connect with my authentic self. Much like my life, I tried to tame my hair… tried to convince it to adhere to a rhyme scheme. My hairstyles ceremoniously changed with each transition. I wore it in an afro… grew a mohawk… shaved it off again… grew an afro again… permed it… then let it kink up just enough for the barber to shave it all off again. This cycle went on for years. With each change, I was finding myself.

Three years ago, I found myself divorced for a second time. It was again time to mark the transition. I had always wanted locs but

didn’t think I would be able to commit to one style for longer than a few weeks. I tried traditional locs, but they didn’t resonate with my spirit. After about four weeks, I combed them out and went back to wearing my natural hair. I had grown unapologetic about doing what felt right for me.

I finally settled on Sisterlocks because they felt like home. Much like this new phase of my life, the financial commitment and commitment to the process were high. It took two days for my loctician to lock my hair, but each day I found myself feeling more and more sure that I was on the right path. And when I looked at my reflection after she was done, I again felt surrounded by and blessed by the Divine.

Three years later, I am cozy in how I visually show up in the world. I’m unapologetically comfortable with my locs and with my life. My hair journey was merely an outward manifestation of the many struggles going on inside of me. Now what I know about my inside matches what the world sees outside… and both the view and the journey are beautiful.

I WILLINGLY RELEASED THE NEED TO FIT ANYONE ELSE’S STANDARD OF BEAUTY.

I FELT THE FREEDOM TO BE WHO I WAS BECOMING.

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME TO LOVE THE UNIQUENESS OF MY HAIR. I RECENTLY DYED IT RED AS AN EXPRESSION OF MY SOUL. DYEING MY HAIR MADE ME FEEL FREE! JESSICA

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME THAT THE RICHNESS OF MY HERITAGE FAR OUTWEIGHS THE TEXTURE OF HAIR. LATONYA

A CONVERSATION WITH STYLIST NINA WINSTON

BY IMANI MONICA MCCULLOUGH

The first time I walked into Growing Seasons Hair Salon about 15 years ago, I was excited to meet the legendary Nina Winston — a stylist who came highly recommended for her reputation of doing incredibly beautiful braids and other extensions, while also caring for the health of your hair.

Nina was the stylist who worked tirelessly to help me feel beautiful through braids, twists, weaves, wigs, and everything in between. She was the healer who worked miracles on my scalp and hair. And, when despite our best efforts the alopecia kicked into high gear, she was my counselor, cheerleader, and friend.

Nina, thank you for speaking with me today. So, let’s start at the beginning... how long have you been a stylist?

I’ve been doing hair since I was 3 years old. Actually, I would say that my hair was my best friend while growing up. (lol) I started doing hair professionally about 27 years ago and have been a salon owner for 22 years.

Wow, it’s wonderful that you recognized your calling so early. Can you remember what prompted you to turn your passion into a thriving business?

Doing hair, and eventually owning a salon, came naturally to me... It’s a passion that has been with me all along... It was a gift, which led to a hobby, and finally turned into a business.

I thank God that I have been able to do the three things that I love the most: (1) hair, (2) share with others, and (3) talk. :)

It’s clear from our time together, and from what I’ve seen you do for other clients, that you truly love what you do. What do you love most about doing hair – your own and others?

I love wearing my natural hair — sometimes with add-ins to make it look fuller and longer. I believe women should follow their heart’s desire (when considering extensions, relaxers, and other non-natural styles) as long as there is love for self.

For my clients, I love sharing deep, meaningful conversations (connecting) while bringing out the beauty from within.

I know that even with our passions, there are always things that can be challenging. What do you like least about doing hair?

When clients don’t trust themselves, that causes them not to trust me. I find that this doesn’t allow God to bring the creativity through me for them.

With all of the clients that you’ve seen over the past 27+ years, I’m sure you’ve heard it all. Can you share what you’ve learned about women and beauty?

I’ve learned that there’s something unique

and beautiful about every woman. We all want similar things, like love, connection, security, inner peace, appreciation and respect. Our beauty is how we express it. Women are most happy when they feel love and share love.

OK, one last question, inspired by my own journey. Many of us have been taught that hair is where our beauty comes from. What would you say to women who are suffering from hair loss — or otherwise struggling to love their hair (or other parts of themselves)?

I would remind my sisters that our beauty comes from God – the inner soul and inner light — not from our hair. And, for hair loss in particular, I think it can help bring out the inner light - like confidence, trust, and faith.... I would also remind my sisters that becoming is a process.

Thank you, Nina, for the gifts you’ve given me over the years and for sharing with us today!

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME TO LOVE THE VERSATILITY OF CURLY EXTENSIONS…. I FEEL CAREFREE AND BEAUTIFUL. RENEE

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME PATIENCE AND A DEEP LOVE OF SELF. TIFFANY

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME HOW TO EMBRACE MY INSECURITIES, LOVE ME, AND LIVE MY LIFE LIKE IT’S GOLDEN!

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME THAT I AM ALWAYS EVOLVING AND AMAZINGLY RESILIENT. TASHIANA

WAR This means

BY SHANTELL CANNON

Almost four years ago, my hair became a casualty of war!

I sat in the black leather swivel barber chair (for my first time ever) inhaling smells of masculinity. The conversation between my husband, daughter, and the barber seemed like a weird dream intermingling with the rap music echoing in the background. The conversation was meant to include me, but I felt like I was outside myself looking in.

“So how much hair has to be cut off? Should I fade it? Do you want to keep the hair?,” Mike (my husband’s barber) asked, with a look of pity and sadness on his face. My daughter and husband answered most of the questions as I sat smiling in an effort to convince them –and myself — it was all good.

In an effort to support me, my husband and daughter started saying they would cut their hair too, but I responded with a big “NO.” I didn’t want my own head shaved and certainly didn’t want any of my four beautiful girls or hubby to shave their heads either. “One cone head in the family is enough,” I jokingly chimed in.

We separated the hair above the area where the surgery would take place, putting my braids in a bun on top of my head and using a rubber band to capture the part that would be shaved. In only a few seconds, the snipping of scissors and the buzzing of clippers removed what I’d spent a lifetime combing, oiling, pressing, and perming. My “glory” (as my grandmother would call it) was half gone and dropped into a sandwich baggie, just like that!

I’d casually said for years that at thirty, forty, fifty I was gonna cut it all off and get me a fancy Anita Baker or Toni Braxton cut. But, with each decade I found a new reason to hold on a little longer to my glory. Like most girls, I had been groomed to associate hair with beauty. I even remember measuring our ponytails after getting our hair pressed, and school kids talking about “good” and “bad” hair. Although I’d long ago done away with those notions, I still found it hard to let go of my hair.

But that was before I was diagnosed with Chari One Malformation. I’d experienced two blackouts intertwined with what later I’d find out were other symptoms of the condition. After what seemed like dozens of MRI’s and a series of other tests, my neurologist referred me to a neurosurgeon to perform a five-hour brain surgery.

With all of the pre-surgery visits came a hodge-podge of feelings. The staff talked about cutting open my head with the same casual tone of a conversation I’d had earlier about putting dinner together. I guess brain surgery was pretty normal for them. It all sounded fine until you walked through the waiting room to see the blank stares of patients walking at a snail’s pace, pushing walkers, or sitting in wheelchairs with giant bandages on their heads. It seemed like a scary scene from a horror movie!

On the day of the surgery, I drifted into a cat nap, surrounded by so much love. Hours later, I woke from a deep sleep praising God that I’d made it through!!! It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized I wasn’t made of steel after all… my strong running legs barely accommodated a slow walk. In a blink of an eye I’d gone from a marathon runner to barely walking. Hair was the least of my worries!

After four years healed, it’s very clear that this battle was about so much more than the physical. This journey of restoration came from the inside out. At my most fragile moments I realized my husband didn’t love me because I was sexy (ha); after surgery, we endured some very un-sexy moments. My family didn’t love me because I cooked and cleaned; they raced at taking turns caring for me. My girlfriends didn’t love me less

because I couldn’t visit them or throw the best parties; they brought the party to me. Most of all, GOD didn’t love me any more or less in this broken, fragile state. I served Him just fine as I was. My faith walk didn’t require walking at all! It only required me trusting with authentic faith and praise. Nothing that I could or couldn’t have done mattered. Long hair, short hair, no hair. Running, walking or sitting… I was still so valuable to those that loved me most!

One morning during my recovery I woke up from a magical dream that I was walking on a breathtaking beach, wearing a long flowing dress; with a crown of beautiful silver locs draped down my back. It felt so real, so authentically me. When I shared my dream with my hubby he smiled and suggested we take this loc journey together. It’s been cool learning about the history and creating our own.

What felt like war that day at the barber shop was actually a beautiful road towards triumph and authenticity. This was a complete healing of my mind, body, and soul.

LONG HAIR, SHORT HAIR, NO HAIR. RUNNING, WALKING OR SITTING…

I WAS STILL SO VALUABLE TO THOSE THAT LOVED ME MOST!

YANASISTERS is an intergenerational wisdom circle for women — like you. We’ve created this safe space, this spiritual space, to celebrate our womanhood. Here, with us, you will find healing. You will find happiness. You will find hope.

And most importantly, you will find a new you.

WHAT IS YANASISTERS?

Connection is the essence of our community. Whether through our intimate online group, coaching programs, local meetups or one of our transformative destination retreats, we are here to support you in this season of your awakening. We share our stories, our pasts and our pain—lovingly and openly—to show one another that we are more alike than we are different.

We defy the notion that differences divide us. We are women who are all shapes, sizes, skin tones and swag. But our spirits—our souls—are every bit the same. And we only have one rule. Leave all judgment at the door.

You arrived here today, not by coincidence, but because you know existing isn’t enough. We believe that too, and we want to support you to manifest something meaningful in your life—whether that something is more joy, more freedom, more confidence and selflove, a more fulfilling profession or a better relationship. YANA is as much about recovery as it discovery. As you exhale your pain and inhale your passion and purpose, you will find you can do—and be—anything. But first, Superwoman, you must take off the cape.

When you need love, we’re here.

When you need an embrace for your body or your soul, we’re here. When you need the freedom to explore those hidden, but treasured, parts of yourself, we’re here.

When you need to free yourself to be yourself, we’re here. We, your sisters, welcome you with warm, open arms.

BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

TANGIE

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME THE VALUE OF ACCEPTANCE AND FREEDOM FROM HAIR BONDAGE. I LOVE MY SHORT NATURAL CURLS MOST DAYS AND ON THOSE DAYS WHEN I MIGHT WISH FOR MY ONCE LONGER, THICKER HAIR, I REMIND MYSELF THAT MY HAIR SHALL NOT DEFINE ME OR RESTRICT MY SENSE OF SELF BEAUTY. I FEEL AUTHENTIC AND BEAUTIFUL. GAIL

MY HAIR JOURNEY HAS TAUGHT ME TO CHOOSE HEALTH (SWIMMING, EXERCISE ETC.) OVER HAIRSTYLES.

whip MY HAIR

BY TANYA POINDEXTER

Last month my granddaughter asked how old I was when I started to do my own hair. Her question took me back to the sound of my mother’s humming — rubber band in her mouth, pink Avon brush in her hand and the warm vibration of her chest as she gathered my curls into a ponytail.

I don’t know when my mother stopped doing my hair, but I remember when it became a problem. I was a middle school girl whose move from Catholic to public school changed the texture of my hair from neutral to decidedly unsafe because I had what other people called: “good hair.”

The first time someone told me I had “good hair” I was confused. Compared to the people I grew up with, it felt mildly ridiculous. But suddenly, a term I didn’t understand, and had never used, became a defining characteristic! And any touching, shaking or movement to adjust my “goodness” was met with the accusation: “she thinks she’s all that.” As any girl from Queens will tell you, this meant I had to accept relentless taunts or learn how to fight. I chose the latter.

While the worst of the bullying stopped after I beat up the toughest girl in class, the sideways looks, snide comments and jealous resentment continued well beyond middle school. This was something I couldn’t fight. So instead, I learned to hide — becoming

hyper conscious of what I was projecting; taking great pains to avoid making anyone believe I thought I was special. My heart breaks when I think of my 12 year-old self, and how her choice to dim her own light became a habit that would last another 30 years.

Despite my efforts to avoid attracting attention, I still wanted to look good. The problem was, I didn’t really know how to do my hair. My hair was thicker and far more frizzy than my mother’s, so following her wash-and-set home regimen usually resulted in being compared to Chaka Khan (and not in a good way). My hair was also too soft for braids on either natural hair or with extensions, which tended to slip off a week after they were done. In the era before YouTube tutorials, my options were few.

That didn’t stop me from trying. One summer’s experiment involved letting a friend cut bangs into my hair (leaving me with a frizzy pouf that didn’t grow out until the fall). Another was asking my best friend’s sister to give me a Jheri curl. Something I imagined allowing me to maintain my “just showered” head of curls, but turned into a thick, dripping mess you could smell, long before you saw it.

My hair had a lot of bad summers.

As I grew older, I convinced myself that focusing on my hair (or any other aspect of beauty) was “fluffy,” and educated, workminded women did not waste time in front of a mirror. But despite now earning enough for proper hair care, I still found it hard to wear my beautiful hair boldly. My inner 12 year-old became a self-deprecating adult, adept at diffusing both real and imagined jealousy of women with hair different than mine. The more mature me learned to avoid men who seemed more enamored of my skin color and “good hair” than me as a person. That was until I met a man who loved my natural, curly

MY HEART BREAKS

hair even more than the “flat ironed” version and encouraged me to step out of my corporate habits and have more fun with my hair. In fact, it’s his love of all the natural parts of me that helped me begin to heal from my middle school wounds and discover what it felt like to shine.

So it was in my mid-forties that I started to experiment with my hair — completely tickled with some of the natural, curly things it could do.

WHEN I THINK OF MY 12 YEAR-OLD SELF, AND HOW HER CHOICE TO DIM HER OWN LIGHT BECAME A HABIT THAT WOULD LAST ANOTHER 30 YEARS.

This was also a journey of acceptance as I stopped trying to adopt styles of black or white women that were just never gonna work for me. As my confidence grew, so did my interest in other aspects of beauty. My lip colors became brighter, my clothes less corporate and I even used a weave to transform my long black hair into a short, brown-blonde-beachy style, which made me feel fabulous!

This journey has been hard, and the habit of beauty is still not second nature. It’s still far easier to make a presentation to senior leaders than it is blow-dry my own hair! But practice has been its own reward. For example, in addition to learning that flipping my hair is all kinds of flirty fun; I know that I’m the only one who controls my shine! I also know that the effort I put

into noticing and nurturing and enhancing my beauty is part of how I love myself. It’s something no one else can do.

One day, I’ll share this story with my granddaughter, Jordyn. But until then, I will stay connected to her sweet spirit, inspecting it for damage and helping her mother give her the courage and means to define her beauty on her own terms. I will continue to enjoy being the GiGi who did her first watermelon face mask, who adds a touch of sparkle on her eyelids on special occasions, and takes her to stylists who know how to cut her hair.

For now, when Jordyn asks me when I started to do my own hair, I just smile and say, “It took me a while.”

ARE YOU A WOMAN WITH A PASSION FOR SERVICE?

Are you passionate about inspiring women and bringing women together to authentically connect?

Are you willing to share your stories — both good and bad — to help others feel safe to do the same?

Would you like to lead a connection group or activity geared toward reminding women they are not alone?

IF SO, WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

Please send an email to info@yanasisters.com with your name, contact information, topic/activity of interest, along with a brief statement of why you feel “called” to lead a YANAsisters connection group or activity.

YANA I AM NOT MY HAIR? Playlist

We created a playlist that’s all about hair!

Simply search for “YANA I Am Not My Hair” on Spotify.

I Am Not My Hair (India.Arie)

Let My Hair Down (3k Mega)

Crown (Kelly Rowland)

I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair (Ella Fitzgerald)

Whip My Hair (Willow) my hair (Ariana Grande)

The Beauty Within (Dead Prez)

War (Live) (Charles Jenkins & Fellowship Chicago)

Don’t Touch My Hair (Solange, Sampha)

Thru My Hair (¿Téo?)

Cozy (Beyoncé) Good as Hell (Lizzo) Hair Peace (Melissa Justme Ellis)

All content in Connect is for informational purposes only and should not be considered to be advice or counseling. Always seek professional help in connection with any questions or issues you may have regarding your health or the health of others.

© You Are Not Alone 2022 www.yanasisters.com

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