Today I didn’t feel like putting 100lbs of gel in my hair

I didn’t want to put 100 pounds of gel in my hair to “tame it” today.

Last night, I noticed a lot of product buildup and decided to wash my hair. I came out of the shower, unsure what to do with this shriveled tree on my head. Feeling nostalgic, I opted for a mini twist-out. On Sunday mornings, after my mother had washed my hair, she’d create these little twists. Thankfully, my hair isn’t as thick or as long as it was back then because my mother suffered.

Anyway, after more than an hour, I was done. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt great. I just wasn’t in the mood to slick one hundred pounds of gel through my hair.

This morning, my regular cab driver picked me up. But instead of driving out of the apartment complex like he usually does, he stopped to stare at me. I could literally feel his eyes. I met his gaze, and he finally said, “Wah do your hair?” 

I burst out laughing.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

I laughed again.

Normally, I’d go into defense mode and he’d get a proper cuss-out. But today, after watching my best friend bury her mother, I realized how little it all matters. Life is so fickle.

I don’t want to waste another second on this planet worrying about how others feel about my appearance, who I am, or who I’m supposed to be. For starters, the crown on my head represents me in my most genuine, pure form.

I’ve come to realize that many people like the idea of me, but are put off by my reality. That’s another story entirely.

At the end of the day, beauty and sanity are not defined by my slicked-back hair which takes hours, sweat, and a few tears to achieve, as my natural-hair girlies know nor by my makeup, wigs, or body type.

Society makes it so hard to accept ourselves. Most of our struggles stem from trying to live up to these ridiculous expectations. And honestly? It’s exhausting.

Do you even care? Pretending to be someone you’re not just so people won’t ask what’s “wrong” with you when they see you in your natural state?

I’m still laughing at that man’s comment not because it was funny, but because so many people react the same way. That same questioning look. That same assumption that something must be “wrong” with a Black woman if her appearance doesn’t meet their idea of polished.

But you know what? It’s also a moment of clarity.

I don’t have to be like them. I don’t have to self-sabotage anymore.

If I wake up feeling happy, peaceful, and like myself then these little twist-outs were absolutely worth it.