Dear Natural hair,

I have never treated you right. From the beginning of my life, you have always been confined. My mother could never tame you. I only washed you twice a week with the most natural and softening shampoo. You loved it! But you did not like what would immediately come after… My tender scalp and your tight kinks inflicted excruciating pain upon me when combed. So while I slept in the loving arms of my mother, she would ambush you with untangling spray and leave in conditioner. She would brush through your curls with caution until you relaxed. At that point, you knew you were safe and I woke up looking extra fierce.

As I grew, so did you, but you did not glow up. I always day dreamed about the day in which I would wake up and your texture would relax to resemble someone of Afro-Hispanic descent. I wanted your thickness and your resistance, but I did not want your shrinkage. I wanted to be able to wake up and run out the door. But you were not…capable of that.. So I did the worst thing possible.. I relaxed you. I allowed a hair dresser to comb toxic chemicals through your luscious curls and force you to bow to my selfish desires. When I walked out of the salon that day, I felt relieved. The fantasy I once dreamed of was my reality. But your revenge marked the first day of my demise.

I followed the instructions on the box to maintain you, but you had a mind of your own. I remember brushing you into a pony tail and feeling the difference between the end of my hair and root. I shook it off and continued on with my life. A few days later I felt what used to long strands of flowing hair become a rough patch of naps. I felt my reality slowly slipping away from my powerful grasp. Your revenge was vindictive and a swift kick to the gut to hurdle me back into my actual reality. BUT I SHOWED YOU! Since you wanted to play dirty, I punished you with everlasting confinement. I had weaves, boxbraids, microbraids, cornrows, wigs; the list can go on and on… installed to punish you for shattering my fantasy. Throughout that time, I began to hate you. I did not want to deal with you and eventually, I became embarassed of you. I did not want you.

Since I began college, I have become more with myself and I have learned more about Brianna, not just Bri. I learned that I don’t give a f*** about anyone’s opinions but my own when it concerns my life. I learned that I am sensitive, goofy, and emotional all at the same time. I take everything to heart and I strive for success due to the fire I feel from being doubted. I realized all of these things as I glowed up….

I have something to say to you. I’m sorry.. The hate I have for you is unnecessary and unreasonable. You make me feel vulnerable, child like, and raw. People actually see me for who I really am. You ARE my reality. I am not just Bri.. I am Brianna, the girl who rocks WHAT ever kind of hairstyle. Because I am beautiful. I should of never relied on you to make me extraordinary. You, my natural hair, is my crown bedazzled with kinks and puff balls. I accept you throughout the pain and the beauty you bring to me. I love you.




About Brianna Thompson (4 Articles)
I am a sophomore double majoring in Political Science and African-American Studies; hoping and wishing to attend Law School. Having recently experienced what I call a rebirth, I have newfound interest in writing to express the feelings within myself. A proud Black Jamaican, I describe myself as funny and loving, yet truthful and cold. Don’t worry, I still love people, almost as much as I enjoy watching anime marathons, the latest Netflix series, and anything by Shonda Rimes.

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