I Like Myself Framed

I have been learning my hair.

Not just how to wash it or moisturize it. Not just how much heat it likes or how gently it needs to be handled.

I have been learning its shape.

Or, more accurately, the shape I like myself in.

When I had locs, there was a particular way I loved to wear them.

My hair was long and strong enough to gather into a large bun on top of my head. Over time, I learned exactly where that bun belonged. It could cover most of my crown. It could extend toward my ears. But never too far back.

I didn’t know why.

I just knew when it was right.

I wore pieces of hair down in the front, too. They were something like curtain bangs—shorter near the center of my face, longer toward the sides.

Again, I didn’t know why.

I just knew I liked myself that way.

Now, years later, with my hair completely different, I’m learning the same lesson again.

I like myself framed.

I like volume near my temples. I like softness around my face. I like my hair to come forward instead of pulling everything away. I like when the shape of my hair feels like it belongs with the shape of me.

And there is something beautiful about knowing that.

Because for a long time, I thought learning my hair meant learning what was “best” for it.

What products work.

What styles protect it.

How often to trim it.

How much heat is too much.

And those things matter.

But learning my hair has also meant learning myself.

It has meant noticing what makes me recognize the woman in the mirror.

There are ways we arrange ourselves that have nothing to do with hiding.

Sometimes, we are simply framing what we already love.

A neckline.

A piece of jewelry.

A particular color.

The way we part our hair.

The place we put the bun.

The pieces we leave down.

These little choices become a language.

They say:

There you are.

And lately, I’ve been paying attention to the things that make me say that.

Not because I need to become someone else.

Because I like recognizing myself.

And maybe that is why this feels bigger than hair.

I am learning that I don't have to explain every preference I have.

I don't need to know why the bun belongs there.

I don't need to justify why one neckline makes me feel more like myself than another.

I don't need to convince anyone that the tiny gold ball on my nose belongs exactly where I put it.

Sometimes I know before I understand.

Sometimes my eye catches up to something my spirit already recognized.

That's me.

There is freedom in becoming familiar with yourself.

Not the version of yourself you assembled because it was fashionable.

Not the version that received the most compliments.

Not even the version you thought you would become.

The one who is actually here.

I think we spend a lot of time being told to find ourselves, as though we are somewhere far away.

Maybe we aren't.

Maybe we're already here, leaving little clues.

In the things we reach for.

In the things we put back.

In the photograph we like better even though we can't explain why.

In the hairstyle we keep recreating.

In the way we instinctively adjust something until suddenly—

there we are.

I've spent enough time trying to figure out what looks good.

I'm more interested now in what looks like me.

There is a difference.

And I trust myself enough to know it when I see it.

I like myself framed.

Not hidden.

Not corrected.

Not transformed.

Framed.

So I can see myself clearly.

And smile when I recognize her.


With love,