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

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.

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.