I AM NOT MY HAIR? - CONNECT, A YANASISTERS PUBLICATION

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.