I’m crying as I write this, because I can finally say I love my curls. I love the frizz. I love the kinks and the low porosity, “resistant” sections. I love that it never dries the same way twice. I love that it shrinks like magic and becomes a chin-length bob, even though it is much longer than that. I love to slick it down and pull it into a bun and look androgynous. I love that it taught me discontinue my self-betrayal and personal sabotage. I love that I’ve re-learned body autonomy by unashamedly declaring, don’t. touch. my. hair.

And the fact that it feels like rebellion to love my crown like that speaks volumes about the messages Black girls receive about their hair and the styles that connect them to their ancestors. I know I’m not alone in this experience.