My hair,  

 

Earlier today my favorite professor complimented you. She said you were beautiful, when I had just called you ugly. I have not always been the kindest to you. At times I have been downright cruel. You never deserved to be treated that way, and for that I write to you my sincerest apology.  

 

You and I have been locked in a battle since birth. From my first curl to a baby afro, I could not get you to grow downward. You were not exactly your best self throughout my childhood. You needed help I did not know how to give. Unfortunately, I did not know enough about your beauty. I did not acknowledge your race, or your history. Because of this, you did not thrive.  

 

I cut you many times. I got tired of the damage being perpetuated by the white products I was told were going to work. So, I cut you. All the way to just above my shoulders. I did not even know what a “big chop” was, but I knew this was supposed to be our moment. Our redemption for the poor treatment you had been receiving. It was time to start fresh. But cutting you was not the solution I was desperate for. The next cut was even more dramatic. You went from brushing my shoulders to a chin-length bob. But I was still unhappy with your pattern, how unhealthy you were, and how you never looked exactly the way I wanted, so I kept cutting. I tried one more time to help you in the only way I knew how, by cutting you again. It was not until this third and last time, I realized I had to learn how to treat what was left better than how I had been neglecting you in the past. The only way for you to be what I thought I wanted, was for me to let you be yourself. So, around age 15, I looked up my first YouTube video on how to take care of black hair.  

 

By the time the pandemic restrictions began to lift, and I returned to society after a long isolation, you were healthier than you had ever been. I had never seen you thrive as brilliantly and lustrously as you did after hiding away from the prying eyes surrounding me. I told myself I would never cut you again. I got box braids for the first time and learned about the importance of protecting you from harsh comments, treatment, and looks. Even when my family insulted you, I defended you until I ran out of breath. Four years later, you are healthy, beautiful, and carry the memories of some of the best years of my life. You were woven into braids when I took to the dance floor at my senior prom. You held onto the fibers of my High School Graduation cap. I still give you little cuts, but the memories that fall away are good ones. Memories of love, dedication, and the care you deserve.  

Feel free to be yourself, in any shape you desire. I will bring you into spaces where you will be accepted, as your most authentic self. This is your time to thrive.  

 

With care and love,  

 

Mariah