all UP in these curly roots.



Yep, fighting ninjas in the woods.

I got my first relaxer when I was eleven years old. The reasons why are unknown to me; perhaps we'll get my awesome mom (herein referred to as The Diva, courtesy of a good pal, you know who you are) to visit Blissfully Rooted for an interview and figure it all out. Nevertheless, pre-relaxer, I hardly thought about what was on my head. Hair had no context for me at the time. I would sit for seemingly endless hours, wincing at the pulling and plaiting of my tender head by The Diva before promptly heading out to play (or promptly heading out to fight ninjas in the woods, based on how crucial my hair looked in childhood photos). Later, as the stylist smeared the pungent cream onto my scalp, I remember wondering what in the world was going on. How long was all of this going to take? And...why did it feel like my head was on fire?

Post-relaxer: enter the flip and the twirl. I had never seen my hair this way, so long and so straight. It deserved to be flipped, and it deserved to be twirled. I would eagerly await "Relaxer Days," when my mother would instruct me to get a clean towel and a comb. I wouldn't squirm on the chair. I was still and obedient. I would even hold my tongue when the burning got to be unbearable, reasoning that the perm needed more time to "take." Nevermind the scabs that would come! My thick hair was now smooth, silky and ready to be flipped/twirled. 

Several Years Ago: Truthfully, I started tiring of relaxing several years ago. Seeing my naturally curly hair disappear was starting to bother me. I even did a wash and air dry once (you read that right; go ahead and shake your heads), forgetting that I had a relaxer and thinking that those soft waves would somehow last throughout the day. Let's just say that by early afternoon, I looked like Crazy Khan, Chaka Khan's younger, lunatic sister, obviously without the Chaka cool. But I kept going back to the relaxer, mostly because I had no idea how to change things or where to even start... 

The Present: I ruminated, researched, deliberated. Didn't take too long, though. I wanted my own hair back. I spoke to my stylist, who happens to be a naturalista, and it was go time.

As of tonight. They're in there! Slowly but surely...
(And yes, there has been an eyebrow progression. Look up.)

Blissfully Rooted means that as I'm growing out my perm and beginning my transition, my curly roots are coming in like gangbusters. So wherever I presently am--work, driving, in front of this laptop--I run my fingers through my scalp and sigh contentedly at the curls I find. Blissfully Rooted means that, at the same time, I'm giddily new to all of this. So my plan is to chronicle this journey and all the thoughts, questions, and changes along the way. Blissfully Rooted means natural hair or not, be happy and rooted in the choices you make. I certainly am.

Blissfully Yours,

MissMondayD