Invisible Fence (39/90)

I’ve made promises that I’d start wearing my hair big. Because several people have asked. But, more importantly because I want to wear it big, in its natural state, which was the whole point of the chop.

I’ve made excuse after excuse, even going so far as to say that that I feel restricted because of where I live and the lack of diversity therein.  And I even feel silly typing that. Because freedom is not predicated on one’s environment, although my perception has had me convinced me otherwise.

I thought for sure that it would be no big deal for me to wear my hair big here in Tampa. This city is truly a melting pot. I knew that there wouldn’t be the questions and the comments that I’m used to at home.

           

And on Saturday when I wore my hair big at the art festival, there weren’t. Only because no one was worrying about me. Or my hair. They were going on about their day, the way that people do.

But I fussed over it all day, and my Mom kept encouraging me to let it be. And I did, because I had no other option at the time, but I pulled it back before I went out to meet friends later that night.

The more that I type, the sillier I feel about actually having such a hang-up. But this is real. So, I’ll continue.

I’m kind of a control freak, and that manifests itself in every area of my life. Including the way that I wear my hair. Next week I’ll be a year natural, and one thing that I can say in retrospect, is that I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

I don’t regret the chop. At all. But, it’s taken me a year just to adjust to the newness. And I can’t say that I’m fully adjusted. It’s odd to have a totally new head of hair. One that I couldn’t predict or prepare for after having my hair relaxed for longer than I’ve been styling my own hair.  

Before the chop, I had my hair down to a science, no pun intended. But, I knew how to work it, how to get it to do what I wanted. I even had certain hairstyles for certain outfits. It was the way that I perfected my image.

And now, I am lost. Things don’t match up in my eyes.  But I guess that’s okay. Because I know that we don’t see the same things anyways. I’ll never see what you see when you look at me. That’s my reality, and the reality of many I presume.

That in mind, it’s foolish of me to try to control what others see when they look at me. Or to blame my fear and discomfort on my environment. Or to hand anyone my freedom.

I can’t control this hair. And already, I’ve grown tired of trying.

It took me several years to decide to transition from relaxed to natural. I endured 8 months of said transition, and decided in a moment of bravado in New York City to chop. I’ve begun adjusting now after this first year of naturalness.

All that’s left is to let it be. Which for me, of course, will be a process.