Loc'd In, Ain't No Switching Up

If you haven't seen Chloe and Halle Bailey, I'm going to assume that you have been living under a rock. These beautiful ladies have put the 'loc' in the phrase 'locked in.' I cannot believe how awe-inspiring and incredible the styles they sport are. I mean, seriously, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear their hairstylist must be on the literal mainline with Jesus. The intricacies of their hair are something I could've only dreamed of seeing as a kid. Now as an adult, I've entered into my journey of loving my hair loc'd. In fact, as of July 31st, I'm a year down and have many more to go! It's crazy how I have been able to fall in love with my new wash day and gain an understanding of how my hair is a bigger expression of who I am at large. A year ago, I loc'd my hair after searching through locticians, getting ghosted by pages, and begging for recommendations from anyone and everyone. I sat down and learned for myself after attending the prestigious YouTube University. It's exciting to think that just a year ago, I started taking things into my own hands, and it has made all the difference in the world in becoming the person I'm going to be. Let me explain.

When I was a kid, there wasn't a natural head within miles of my community. I mean, it was almost considered a cardinal sin to have a child walking around with their God-given naps and curls. I can still remember my mom hyping up my 6th or 7th birthday to be an experience for the ages – my first-ever relaxer. It was going to straighten my hair and soothe my soul the way it was sold to me. She was a cosmetologist and worked in a JCPenney salon at the time, so when she said something about hair, it was good to stand on. And as a tender-headed child, not that anyone cared, it sounded like it wouldn't be too bad to have 'more manageable' hair. I had no clue what I was in for, though my sister had gotten them before I didnt. Those weren't things I concerned myself with, and it was just the way we did things. What mother says goes, and she's never wrong. So I settled into the idea and prepared for the process. Again, how bad could it be? Y'all, I was too naive. The smell of chemicals, neck wrung over the counter, the tootie-bumped ends. I never stood a chance. I stomached the style for years. Until one summer, I went up to visit my grandmother and apparently had too much new growth. She's old, southern, and Black, so you can imagine where this was going. I had one of two options: sitting through hours and hours upon hours of braiding to get the micro style she liked or getting a relaxer, so that I could look 'kept.' I, being a vet on the relaxer department by this point, thought the latter would be fine, quick, and the least amount of sitting. This is getting long-winded, so let me make it short. The stylist was rude, I got scolded for falling asleep in the chair, and she used WAY too strong of a relaxer on my scalp. When my mom went back to touch it up later in the year... clumps fell to the ground. This hairdresser from hell done gone and burned out my hair and gave me an attitude while doing it. Ugh, once thick, full, and healthy, my hair seemed to frump. I mean, it looked as stringy and lifeless as the actual hairballs you pull out of a drain. At that point, I was done. I knew that I would no longer be subscribing to 'it is what it is,' and when I was old enough, natural would be for me. But since I was a kid, as Penny Proud to the newer generation would say, 'I am a Black child, I don't have any rights!' It wasn't until I was 15 when I had my first job and could afford it myself that I went natural and did a big chop.

I picked out my hair and met up with friends at the state fair to celebrate. What a time, at 15 years old, a teen in the purest form. Finally defying the status quo, at least in my own home because 'High School Musical' was not a blueprint. I mean, seriously, it only had like 3 Black kids, but I digress. I wish at the time I would've known that the small burst of self-assurance I had would not make its way back to me again until I was 23 years old, and that my hair would be the vehicle I used to drive myself forward. Just like that decisive kid at 15 taking her hair back and effectively a piece of her life, here I was again. This time armed with videos, crochet hooks, scalp oil, and big-kid money.

The confidence I found in doing my own hair again was everything. Although I had always been the one to maintain it, it was the semi-permanent style that felt new and adventurous. I wasn't waiting around for someone to come and save me. I wasn't pushing off my wants any longer. Instead, I was deciding to do what I wanted for me and me only. No other opinions, no societal norms, and no disapproving grandmothers to stop me. While it may just seem like hair, for my culture and myself, it is so much bigger. How does hair become such an important aspect of me changing? What could it mean to me and anyone who is watching? Simple. It was a stepping stone. We get so obsessed with taking big leaps in life, trying to bridge gaps and move mountains, that we forget the small things. The victories that come with learning a small lesson and it leading you to a bigger one. The beauty of starting with something as close to me as hair is knowing that if I don't like it, I can try something new. And I can do this again and again and again. However, I like my locs and am on the journey to styling them in new and exciting ways like my besties Chloe and Halle. The point is, with my hair, I took a small step and landed it. This is so important when you are learning to reclaim yourself.

When you are learning to listen to that voice inside yourself you have been pushing away for so long. After changing my hair, I got a personal trainer, then a vocal coach, and then started looking into programs that would allow me to follow my passions. It was one small step for me but a giant leap for the future I can only dream of having. Somewhere inside of me is a little girl that for a very long time was so neglected and alone. She was locked away so that the adult could get work done and come back for her later. Only the adult kept forgetting to come back. And now that she has remembered that little girl, she's taking that kid to see the world. To experience awe and wonder and joy. To fight anyone who even comes close to even suggesting a relaxer go back on my head. To be able to reclaim her time like Auntie Maxine has taught us to. And to do so much more. Hair was just the beginning, and the fun part is I have no idea how this will end. So, for the time being, I am learning to cherish the moments. Embrace the unknown. And, to appreciate the small steps for all they are worth.

The small steps are what make up the journey. And while I am along for the ride, I am choosing to enjoy the process. It is a new feeling for my adult self to be excited and mildly optimistic, so I am letting the inner kid take the reins for a while. It may lead to some interesting conversations with my therapist and the FBI (if Jeff is watching), but those are risks I am willing to take. Truth be told, I hope more people have that. And that more adults give themselves the opportunity to feel excited about the prospects of the future, as opposed to succumbing to the struggles of the past. I know that it can be scary, and it isn't altogether easy, but the benefits feel like too big a win to just miss out on. And hey, who knows, maybe I'll be the next pop star with loc'd hair that graces the mainstream with all I have to offer. In the meantime, I plan to keep learning lessons from my hair, taking lessons from the sisters with the baddest locs around, and giving all I have to the one life I have left to live. Now that is something I think we can all take away from today. And if not, oh well. We locked in, ain’t no switching up bookie. Have a good week!