Freedom: I am NOT my hair.

There’s no feeling like being free. 

It almost cost me my life to remain in bondage. 

Because freedom is life. 

And to lose my sense of self-worth for a chemical fix

Meant losing a crown that I had not yet begun to realize was there. 

To adhere to societal views of beauty and majesty

Meant losing the core of a free flying spirit. 

One that can only be crafted in a Godly image. 

To abhor my “black hair” in a way that would taint my views of naturally existing

Meant I had to relinquish my rights to the constitution of my own heart. 

Rules I had penned that I swore I would never betray. 

To think of my curls as vile, unmanageable, and just plain nappy 

Meant I didn’t have to work as hard to keep my own existence sacred. 

I could let the chemicals mask my slothfulness and hide behind “straight” hair. 

And boy, did I hide. 

To blend in with the elites, but also stand out from my racial peers

Meant I could hide in the box that was built to enslave me. 

Without ever attempting to break out of it or carve an opening through which to see. 

After all, I was the black girl with the looonnng pretty hair. 

And in hiding in that box shackled to the bondage of chemicals

That’s all I ever needed to be. 

Didn’t have to talk much. 

Didn’t have to demand recognition or command any room’s attention. 

Didn’t have to use my blessed influence for its God-given purpose. 

I simply needed to smile and timidly answer questions about my obviously mixed ethnicity. 

After all, why would I need to speak anyway?

What was there worth noting that I couldn’t have said ever so softly if asked?

Liberation. That’s what. 

Freeing my hair of the bondage of the chemicals used to alter its glory

In order to match some ideal that nappy was wacky 

Or that curly and thick was too much to mess with

Meant that I could rip up the carbon copy vision of self I had subscribed to.

It meant that I didn’t have to hide. 

What was actually scary was that I could no longer be hidden. 

Because, now, I was seen before I was even close enough to touch. 

Now, I had to speak so as to be heard and walk so as to be respected. 

I had to take up the responsibilities that my God-given influence required of me, 

Showing the world that your self-image, your God-image, is one-of-one. Not of many. 

No more could I hide behind “Aww your hair is so pretty!”

Instead, I was forced to stand in my queendom with my head held high as I heard “You’ve got a mighty crown”. 

And that was only the beginning. 

I am now tasked with bearing the cross of the backlash. 

Backlash thrown by both sides that still think my nappy is wacky. 

The difference is that I’m free. 

I no longer have to care to be affected by what is not normal to the ritual of beauty in this broken society. 

The freedom brought upon by relinquishing my chemically straightened hair opened the floodgates.

The floodgates that are constantly pouring out rivers of peace, tranquility, confidence, and purpose. 

So many beautiful things that I never want to dream of giving up again. 

Because, when I think of what it cost me to keep my hair confined,

I don’t ever want to risk losing the freedom that I bought with my life.

-Sarabi