I have curly hair. As in thick, excessive curly hair. At least I used to. But I’ll get back to that.
When I was an early teen, my curls were the bane of my existence. I would’ve given my right arm to have straight hair. To fit in with the rest of the girls.
The hardest part was I didn’t know what to do with it. It seemed no amount of hair product would style it the way I liked. And by product, I mean mousse. It was the only one I knew to try. As a result, my hair only had 2 modes: frizzy or crunchy. Neither one made me feel pretty.
As I transitioned to adulthood, I started to figure it out. Sort of. But for a long time I had more bad hair days than good ones, even after leaving the salon. The stylists I went to couldn’t quite figure out my hair, either.
In my early 30’s, I started seeing a new stylist. On my first appointment with him, he blew my hair straight and finished it off with a hot flat iron, without asking what I wanted. My hair was straight-straight and silky, too. And I thought it was the most beautiful my hair had ever been.
That visit marked the start of 10 years of fighting my natural curls with a flat iron.
It was so much work every time I washed it, which was often. But I received compliments on my hair everywhere I went, which reinforced my behavior. I couldn’t imagine going back to my curls, ever again.
But trying to hide who you really are is exhausting. You can only maintain a facade for so long, before you break. And while I didn’t have a complete breakdown, I found myself in regular appointments with a therapist for the first time.
We went back, way back, to when my insecurities began. It was difficult to revisit those childhood memories where I was singled out, by well-meaning adults and kids alike, because of my hair.
But one of the most freeing things she said to me was:
“You don’t have to try so hard.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath at the sound of those words. Tears gently rose to the surface. I finally recognized the truth…and the lies I had believed about myself for all those years.
Little by little, I started wearing my hair curly again. I felt like a fish out of water, as if no other woman on the planet had hair like mine, as if it drew attention everywhere I went.
Then I had a major breakthrough, thanks to YouTube.
I learned how to set my curls using hair gel and diffuse them with a hair dryer on high heat. I had a new routine of washing my hair at night, drying my curls, and pulling them into a ponytail on top of my head, to protect them while I slept.
For the first time in my life, I loved my hair.
But once again, it was so much work when I washed it.
Using a diffuser took 20-30 minutes, depending on the length of my hair. And I had given up on air-drying because it took hours for my hair to dry naturally. That, and I could never achieve the same look as diffused curls, either.
And once again, I started to burn out from the effort.
That was just a few weeks ago.
The other thing that’s been on my mind is ensuring I’m taking the best care of my hair as possible, especially as I get older. I’ve never considered thinning hair, before now, because when you’re young, who does?
But I’ve been wondering if my hair has thinned out a little. It feels possible and, visually, there may be slight changes, too. But my current hair stylist, who I love and trust, assures me all’s well.
Still, I’ve spent years heat-styling and pulling my hair back, not realizing these things, alone, can cause hair to thin.
So now, I’m doing all I can to ensure my curls are healthy.
The good news is, I have a friend who also has long, curly hair. We occasionally swap stories, and laughs, on how our curls are behaving and how to manage them. She typically air-dries her hair and still has beautiful, frizz-free curls. And I’ve always wondered how she pulls it off, convinced it wasn’t possible for me.
But one night, since I wasn’t going anywhere the next day, I gave air-drying another try. If it didn’t work out that was totally fine. No one was going to see my hair, anyway.
The overarching emotion from that decision was relief.
It was freeing to not spend time heat-drying my hair, something I did out of “necessity” vs. desire. I gained a few extra minutes with Chad. And I had more time to curl up with a book, something I love doing.
Did my hair look the way I wanted the next morning? Not even a little. It was still a smidge damp when I went to bed, which meant the curls had no chance of drying frizz-free.
But, once again, I realized I don’t have to be a slave to my hair. Or my physical appearance in general.
After a handful of times of experiencing this newfound freedom, I took it to another level.
What if I stopped pulling my hair up at night? Will my curls survive?
I was confident they wouldn’t. And the “work” that went into air-drying (being careful not to touch your curls as they set) would be wasted.
Again, I experimented on a night where I didn’t have to be presentable the next day. Only this time, I didn’t go to bed with damp hair. I air-dried it for as long as I could, and finished it off with a diffuser. The diffusing took a fraction of the time as it did before! A happy tradeoff.
I left my hair down, went to bed, and when I woke up the next morning, couldn’t believe my eyes. My curls were not only in tact, but looked better for not having been pulled into a pony tail.
Achieving curls I love is so much easier than I imagined.
Ok…this is a long story about hair. But it’s an example of something deeper I’d like to touch on.
Why do we make things harder than they need to be? And why do we struggle to accept ourselves just as we are?
What habit or routine do you have, that makes your life harder, because you’re convinced it’s necessary? That there’s no other way? Do you resent doing it?
Pay attention to resentment. It’s often an indicator you’re doing something you weren’t meant to do. The things that are truly for us give us life, not dread.
Now imagine letting that habit go.
How would you spend the extra time you now have? And who would you spend it with? How would you feel?
We have the power to stop doing things that aren’t serving us (and, as a result, don’t serve the people around us, either).
Sometimes we need help from others in breaking the cycle. But that’s not a bad thing. They can help us get where we want to go, much faster than we can on our own.
If you’re in a season of “trying”, here’s a song I recommend listening to. You’ve probably heard it a hundred times, like I had. But when my therapist suggested I listen to it again and really listen to the words, it helped heal a few broken places in my heart.
Remember: you don’t have to try so hard.
Love,
Christina
