I’ve been fully natural probably about six years or so right now. If you don’t know when I say natural I mean my hair isn’t texturized or relaxed with chemicals.
I am what I can call without too much shame a struggle bus natural. All those gorgeous Black women you see rocking twist outs and braids and ALL the things are not me. I have a little bit of a complex but I am terrible at styling my hair. I care for it amazingly. Like, my hair is fucking amazing and gorgeous.
For this reason I’ve spent most of my time natural rocking various buns. When my hair was shorter, I made myself a sock bun. I’ve tried to give myself braids (FAIL), cornrow my hair (SUPER FAIL TEARS WERE INVOLVED) and tried a lot of other styles that uh…yeah no.
Here are some things I’ve learned and struggled with.
My hair is ALL the curls. From type 2 to 4 i got em. Some of my hair naturally grows with such a loose wave it is almost straight.
The above said, myhair does not fro. When I say that I’m talking a big round fro. That is what I was picturing when I first went natural. I’d forgotten the varied textures of my natural hair and thought for sure when I cut off the last of my relaxed hair, BOOM FRO.
Also standing between me and my fro dreams is the natural part I have in my hair. It goes from the middle front to the back of my hair where I have a dramatic change in texture.
How about a little look back? This was my relaxed hair in 2007.
My hair was breaking off, I had no idea what products were good or not. It was thinning. This was very close to me jumping off of the struggle bus and just shaving my head again. Learning how to really care for the health of my hair was just so fucking hard.
Fast forward to a week ago or so. I have been (for about five months or so) doing what’s called a protective style (my go to is wigs) and decided to blow out my hair for a good trim.
Y’all…when I say that I somehow tapped into Black Girl Magic I didn’t know was there, I tapped into it and my blowout is gorgeous.
This photo was right after i finished blowing out my hair. I wasn’t covered in broken hair. My hair was soft and big and floofy. Like, I DID IT.
As is my habit after blow drying I moisturized and wrapped it for the night. The next day i was rocking this:
LOOK at my fuckin hair.
LOOK AT IT. I mean this is my actual hair and I love it so much. My edges still lay down for neither man nor product but wow.
I know my hair isn’t the giant afro of my dreams. I can’t even fuck with the people I see on the natural hair blogs and instagrams.
As much as I struggle to try and learn how to do a bantu knot out or a twist out or something with my hair, I’m learning to appreciate it on a whole new level.
I call my hair the Kraken and I do so with love. When sometimes I overhear pelo malo directed at me when I walk by the Latina hair salons in my neighborhood, or when someone asks when I’m going to “do something” with my hair or I am told that someone prefers my wigs to my real hair, I don’t give a shit.
I might be on the struggle bus and sometimes trying to teach myself to braid my hair results in tangles and tears, but god damn y’all.
I love it.
My Kraken is Good Hair.
My Kraken is difficult and prone do parting where I do not want it to part and shedding and slow ass growth but damn it, the Kraken is glorious.
Someday, my goal is to have midback length stretched hair. The kind that makes you think of Fantasy stories.
I’m gonna get there.
My next hair post, I will document my attempt to give myself yarn braids. There may be tears.