Why I Chose Straight Hair (Even When I Knew Better)

I didn’t get a relaxer because I hated my hair.

I got a relaxer because I stopped trusting myself.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot that my curls were beautiful.

I forgot that I had already done the hard work—
Learning my porosity, my moisture needs, my routines…

I mastered my natural hair.
I was GOOD at it.
I was PROUD of it.

But then…I got tired.

Tired of the process.
Tired of the time.
Tired of feeling “undone” in public.

Tired of society making me feel like sleek = beautiful and texture = unkempt.

So I said:
“Let me just make life easier.” Translation? “Let me trade my authenticity for acceptance.”

And the moment I sat in that salon chair…
I felt it.
That little nudge in my spirit. That soft whisper: “Don’t do this. You know what happens.”

But I ignored it.

Because sometimes self-betrayal doesn’t scream.

Sometimes it sounds like: “It’s just hair.”
“It’ll grow back.”
“I just want to feel pretty.”

I thought I was choosing beauty…
But I was actually choosing convenience over confidence. Control over trust. A temporary aesthetic over a deeply earned identity.

And here’s the truth nobody admits: The grief didn’t hit when my hair got straight.
It hit when I washed it and my curls didn’t come back.

That’s when my stomach dropped.
That’s when I couldn’t look in the mirror. That’s when I said out loud:
“I didn’t lose length… I lost ME.”

Because my curls were more than coils. They were proof that I healed.
Proof that I unlearned shame.
Proof that I chose myself after years of not feeling enough.

So when I chemically erased them…
It felt like I erased the healthiest version of me I’ve ever known.

And now?
Let’s be real…

My scalp is on FIRE.
I have sores that healed over into flakes that won’t stop itching. Every time I scratch, it rains embarrassment.
But the physical pain? Is NOTHING compared to the spiritual pain of knowing:
I was the one who hurt me. That’s the heartbreak.
That’s the “grief no one talks about.”
Not the hair.
The self-abandonment.

Because when the world told me my curls were too much…

I believed them.
I silenced the girl who finally felt free.
I sat her back in the “be small, be polished, be acceptable” box.

And why? Because I wanted a break.

Because sometimes the strong version of us gets tired.
Because even healed people relapse into old versions of themselves.

But here’s the plot twist…

This time, I see it.

I see how far I came.
I see how sacred my natural self really was.

I see that loving my hair wasn’t just about beauty—
It was about TRUST.

Trusting my texture.
Trusting my process.
Trusting my own hands.
Trusting that what grows from me… is GOOD.

So yes, I’m hurting.
Yes, I’m mad at myself.
Yes, I’m covered in flakes and regret.

But I’m also awake.

And this time…
I will grow back more than curls.

I will grow back loyalty to myself.

Because the real glow-up isn’t straight or curly.

It’s when you look in the mirror and say:
“I will never abandon me again.”