Making My hair disaster work

Disasters That Works

Now, what I'm gonna say may sound unexpected to some. Well, unless you have curly hard to manage kinky hair like mine.

It was the day before graduation, the weather was supposed to be incredible. I was 13, and I was about to enter the real world—high school.

My mother, excited, just like me, promised to straighten my hair for all my hard work.

Like most young black women at my school, I had to protect my natural hair. This is called a protective hairstyle. Most girl hair is either braided with extension, kept under a wig or braided with their natural hair.

Some girls also choose to straighten their hair with chemicals, but this was forbidden at my house. People only saw me with my hair braided, which was okay, but I wanted to show the white girls what I got (especially those who bullied me).

As soon as I got home, my mom yelled at me to wash my hair. That took hours but trust the process.

My old personal wash day routine:

Undo braids Comb hair (While crying)
Put a moisturizing mask
Wash hair with shampoo
Conditioned hair
Comb hair with conditioning and braid with many big sections
Rinse hair and wait for it to dry
Undo braids when dried
Rub ointment on my scalp

Then my mom spent countless hours making sure my hair was straight as a ruler. My hair is too thick, her arms had gained muscled as the time passed, but the finished look was worth the pain we both endure.

(Me my neck. My mom her arms)

The end look was precious. My soft medium curls were replaced with long silky, shiny hair that enveloped my face entirely; I looked and felt like a queen, like the black version of mia Thermopolis in the Princess Dairy movie.

That night I emptied out my phone storage with bad filtered pictures and delicately slept like an angel with a silk hair cap.

I dreamed of my classmate's shocking look as their jaw hit the floor, realizing my hair's length.

The next morning my hair was slightly messed up, but it was still mesmerizingly straight; a little volume never hurt anybody.

I took my shower, watched TV, wore my dress, and was ready to stare in the mirror. One glance and I was frozen about what I saw.

I looked like a mushroom!

I screamed so loud, and until this day, I can hear the laughter of my brother and my mom trying to soothe me down.

Apparently, the humidity makes my hair poofy. I guess the weather wasn't that amazing as they claimed.

My mother made it work with the iconic gelled high bun, and I did look pretty. My hairstyle wasn't that iconic, but I stood out since everyone had straight hair.

I felt proud of this disaster; it made me look original and unique, which was the statement I wasn't going for.

Sometimes you just go to make the disaster work.