Last summer, after a few years of being natural (and after a few months of an unintentionally low fade), I relaxed my hair. No one made me do it, I did it myself. I could chalk the decision up to being bored, but that really wasn’t it. No, I relaxed my hair because I didn’t think anyone would find me attractive with it natural. I hated that reason too; it sounded so vain. Who cares what people think, right? But it was definitely the truth. I convinced myself (my grandma helped!) I’d never meet anyone with a head full of naps and while it was a fun experiment, I’d better get back to some Optimum Care sooner than later.

Except, when I looked in the mirror after I’d done it, I didn’t feel like myself anymore. My hair was cute: short, silky, jet black. Just like it was when I headed off to college. It did look nice, I must admit. But I didn’t look or feel like myself. That was the old KaLeah staring back at me. I knew it wasn’t who I was anymore before I did it, but I thought that feeling would pass. It didn’t. I did go on a couple more dates. But they weren’t with anyone worth feeling altering my appearance for. The fact of the matter was that I woke up in the morning feeling like a phony. Not because of my relaxed hair, but because of why I’d relaxed my hair. Pretty soon, I was growing it out again.

Listen, this isn’t a post about why natural hair is better than relaxed hair. I don’t think that’s true anyway. I think the best hair for you is the hair you’re most comfortable with, whatever that is. (That choice is so personal. I hate it when people rail on and on about one being better than the other.) What this is about is being true to yourself and not making decisions based on how you think people will perceive you. When I look at pictures of my hair from 2 years ago, I can’t believe I cut all that cottony, nappy, fun to play with (yess!) hair off and relaxed it. And I can’t believe I let myself get caught up in what I thought people would think if I didn’t. At the end of the day, you have to do what’s right for you. Whatever that is. It’s true with most things in your life. That’s the moral of this story.

My grandma loves me to death and she doesn’t really like my hair, but in the end, she told me that you just have to be happy however you can. She’s 81; she ought to know. But I know, in her heart, she’s holding out for me to at least try a press and curl!