I’ve straightened my hair for most of my life. My natural hair falls somewhere between wavy and curly. I have more circular-curl action than those who just have wavy hair but less ringlet action than, say, the Munchkin.
I’ll be honest, I wasn’t raised to know how to properly care for my hair. My mom’s hair is stick straight. In fact, before my mother even realized that I had natural curl, she permed my hair. It was the 80′s. Everyone permed their hair. However, despite adding curl to my hair, she didn’t teach my how to do my hair. It wasn’t until a friend who was already in middle school made fun of me, in church no less, that I learned I wasn’t doing my hair the right way. “You don’t brush a perm!” I still remember that day in the parking lot, her frizzy blonde permed hair looking like everyone’s 80′s prom night dream. My brushed, brown crimpy hair blew in the breeze. I vowed that no one would make fun of me again for my hair… after it grew out.
I wore my hair straight (after that perm grew out) until one day during my senior year of high school. I was running late for musical practice one Saturday morning. I decided to just leave the house with my hair wet, having no time to put my straightening cream in it or dry it ever-so-carefully. By the time I got to practice, it was curling. Friends of mine were in awe. I began wearing my hair curly or straight on an alternating basis whenever I so chose, proud of my ability to have chameleon like hair. I did this through most of college except for those times when a boy would break up with me and I would chop it to well above my ears. (I suppose that’s a post for another day.)
I can say that I have straightened my hair almost everyday for the past six years. My husband always loved when I would not have the time or effort to straighten it, claiming that it looked lovely curly. I didn’t believe him, that teasing comment from my elementary school days sticking with me. When the humidity hit earlier this month, I couldn’t straighten my hair. Even with the most expensive straightening cream and far too long with a hair dryer in a hot bathroom, it would begin to curl. Even as the lady cutting my hair would spray my hair wet, the curls would be popping up in the middle of the haircut. I gave up. I have, for the past month, worn my hair curly.
But it’s not only because of the humidity.
I learned that someone in my daughter’s life made a comment about her curls in a negative manner. She was apparently told that she would look “beautiful with straight hair like everyone else.” I wanted to spit nails when I learned of this ridiculousness. She has the most gorgeous hair I’ve ever seen, even though I’m slightly biased. It’s just gorgeous hair. Who says that to a child with curly hair? I can’t imagine saying to the boys, “Gee, your eyes would look better if they were another color.” Or, “I bet you’d look much cuter if you had curlier hair like that boy in your class!” Why should we teach our kids that they need to be like everyone else? Once my anger subsided, I didn’t think about it.
Until I was angry with my own hair for curling.
And then it smacked me in the face: wasn’t I sending much the same message by constantly straightening my own hair? I’ll be honest: I’m not sure the Munchkin even knows that I have curly hair. In all of the pictures I have with my daughter, my hair is straight. As I thought of this and the statement that had been made to her about her hair, I started to feel guilty. Have I contributed to the problem? Will she look to me at some point and say, “Well, she didn’t like her curls either so why should I?”
I often think that I am exempt from the issues that plague our growing girls. I have never read the book Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters: How the Quest for Perfection is Harming Young Women
As I pondered these questions over the past month of curly hair living, I felt pretty bad. Have I been setting a poor example of a strong, independent woman for my daughter? Have I been setting a poor example of a strong, independent woman for my parented sons? I felt that was the case. Add on the guilt of Things I Have Done Wrong as a Mother.
As I’ve spent the past month embracing my curls, I’ve been wondering how I can better show my children, all of them, how to be content in your own skin. Or hair. I’m not quite sure what the balance is on these things. How much time is too much time at the gym or exercising? When does it cross the line from being healthy to being obsessed? When does straightening your hair for a different look cross the line into trying to deny who you really are? How much makeup is too much makeup? When does a diet stop being a quest to being healthy and an unhealthy obsession with food? And how do I raise my children or, in Munchkin’s case, show my children from afar to be comfortable with themselves?
I ponder all of these as I slowly reteach myself how to work with curly hair. I am so thankful that my daughter’s mom did the research and has taken such wonderful care of the Munchkin’s hair. I’m sure she will teach her to do her own hair well as she grows and becomes more independent. I hope when she asks me why I straightened my hair for all those years that I can come up with an answer that makes sense. I hope that by working toward becoming happy in my own skin that I can show her that she’s beautiful just the way she is. I hope that I can teach my sons that they are amazing the way that they are and that beauty, their own or a partner’s, is more than skin deep.
By the way, Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters: How the Quest for Perfection is Harming Young Women