The story of my braids and the history they hold. I spent years of my life crying about my braids. I hated them. I swore to my mother that I would never make my children comb their hair. I promised that I would never wear them once I got far enough from her reach to take them out. And I kept that promise. As soon as I got to school I would take off my shoes, throw away my socks, take down my braids and throw my barrettes and hair ties through the fence. I was free. And every day I would return home from school with my crinkly hair blowing in the wind, always sockless and sometimes barefoot. And every day I would get off the bus to greet my mom happy to see her ... but only to witness her face in horror. And despite my fight, we had to wash, condition, blow dry, and braid every morning. For special events, I had start the whole process the night before so I could sleep in my curlers. I wasn't a good daughter. I wasn't a lady. Because I couldn't keep my braids in tact. Because I'd rather be barefoot. Because I was 2, 3, 4, and then 5 and just wanted to play. I was always shamed for my hair. My braids would be pulled during discipline. My grandfather would always "playfully" threaten to cut them off with the his knife. I spent years begging my mom to leave me alone. I won my freedom when I was 9, but it still came with looks of disappointment from my mother. I learned to ignore her. And I kept my hair down and free until I was about 24. Then something changed. I'm not sure what it was but I missed my braids. I would drive to her house and ask her to do my hair before work. I would come home from a long day and she would put them in. And I realized that all those years I really hadn't hated my braids. It was just the expectation and abuse that came with them. It came from the hair pulling and the brush-hitting. The scars on my mom's head are proof of her braids. I don't have those. But I have the memories of her pain that was passed down to me in my hair. Today I wear my braids almost daily because they are simple, protective and practical. I like to think that I have transformed the process into one that is based in love. One that is respectful and full of self-care. I don't comb my children's hair. Instead I do my best to ask. When they do, we set aside an hour. It's a process we look forward to together. One where we can braid and brush and re-braid and talk or read- really just do all the things I wish my braids held for me. That is what I want hair to mean for my kids. I want them to feel the love tied into each strand. I want them to feel the love surround them like a halo. I want them to reach back for me and know that I am there loving each piece no matter how free or tied up they want to be. #teachlove