I grew up around women who either relaxed or pressed their hair. For me, it was a bi-weekly or tri-weekly, and often times, all afternoon event to have my hair washed, dried, than pressed. Sitting on a small stool in the kitchen, between my mother or my grandmother’s legs, I remember praying my hair, my ear/s, my neck and/or my forehead wouldn’t accidentally receive the familiar burn that often times was the result of the fiery process. If you were lucky you dodged the smoldering bullet. Steam and the scent of fried hair would fill the air and permeate my senses until I had absolutely no curls or kink left. A good press could last me weeks. 

By the time I was around 13 years old, my mother decided she would try to relax my hair. Armed with Dark and Lovely® super hair relaxing cream, my mother carefully began placing the mixture on my head. The moment she placed those chemicals on my virgin scalp I started to cry and yell, “It burns! It burns! Wash it out!” My mother had barely finished 25 percent of my hair, and the horrible ordeal lead to 4 years of blow drying and hot curling my hair into obedience. During my no relaxer days, I slowly learned how to take care of my natural tresses. I picked up every magazine I could afford and learned as much as I could in order to have healthy hair. However, the information on how to take care of African/African American hair was limited.

At 17 years of age my mother, due to my begging and pleading, again tried to relax my hair and again I was met with a burning scalp. Nevertheless, the relaxer stayed in a bit longer. This time my mother was able to complete about 50 percent of my head. Unfortunately, however, my mother and I were beginning to believe I was not going to be able to ever use a relaxer.

Yet, at 19 years old, I attempted to relax my hair again. I was determined I was going to break free from my kinks just like all my female friends and family had done. My mother and I figured I needed to use a “kiddy” relaxer. I mean after all wasn’t those chemicals supposed to be gentler since the box says it’s for children? This time, with some minor burning, my entire head was completed. But I hated it! Where was my beautiful wavy texture? Where were my kinks? Where were my curls? I felt I had abandoned my roots.

I had been told that once I started to relax my hair, I was in it for keeps. I was told I’d never see my natural hair again. I absolutely hated having to relax my hair every 2 months, but knowing my hair was in jeopardy of breaking with out the chemical “touch-ups” I felt trapped and enslaved to the “creamy crack”.

In the 20 years of relaxing my hair, I had gone from using kiddy relaxers, to regular relaxer, to mild relaxers, to kiddy relaxers, to what is thought of as natural relaxers, back to mild relaxers or kiddy relaxers (which ever one I could find for the right price). I have spent more than $300 dollars on chemicals that threatened my hair and my health.

I didn’t have major hair issues, although at one point I had failed to wash out all of the chemicals, so I was left with thinning hair at a small area at the back of my head. If I wore my hair just right it wasn’t noticeable, but the thinning spot made me very self conscious. That thinning area would try to recover, but because I applied chemicals as a “touch-up” every two months, that area would thin out again. Over all my hair would never be the same until I decided to say “No” to the chemical.

My biggest issue with relaxers was the threat to my health. During the process of trying to find myself, I’ve become a semi-vegetarian, a supporter of recycling, a serious natural and organic eater and a believer that if you take care of your body, your body will take care of you. I was “green”, way before it was popular. However, every 2 months I was still applying chemicals to my head, which was ultimately seeping into my body. I was applying a concoction to my scalp and hair that contains the same form of chemicals used in Drano® or Liquid Plumr®. Every two months I was living in direct contradiction to my healthy life style.

I really hated relaxing my hair, so during one of my “relaxing and grumbling” sessions, my teenage son looked over at me and said very frankly, “You know Mom, every time you relax your hair, you are going against everything you believe in.” Some times children can be teachers, too. That was the last time I relaxed my hair.

I have always admired dreadlocks and had toyed with the idea of “locking” my own hair. I saw dreads as not only naturally beautiful, but I saw strength, I saw my roots, I saw Africa, and I saw power in every branch. To me a person who had dreadlocks possessed self pride. My sincere hate of the chemical bondage and my son’s wise words was an indication that it was time to take that journey. A journey I had put off taking long enough.

I knew I didn’t want to “big chop”, although I had sported short hair before. I also, knew if I wasn’t careful the differences in the two textures (with both natural and chemically treated hair) as my hair grew longer, it could be disastrous for the general health of my hair. I didn’t want to risk that, so I made a choice to do what was right for me and my situation. I started my dreadlock voyage with braidlocks weeks later, with the damaging chemicals still occupying at least 95% of the length of my hair. At my 8 month mark of locking, I knew it was time to sever the chemical ties and with the help from my husband, we grabbed the scissors and cut the remaining chemically treated hair. My locks are healthy and strong chemical free branches. Cutting off the relaxer was one of the most liberating experiences I have had. Giving birth to my 3 sons would be the only thing to top it.

I knew locking my hair would invoke some negativity and because of Nappturality.com and several dreadlock veterans and a few dreadlock “newbies” I gained the strength to lock with my head held high. I have been able to disregard the unconstructive stares and the condescending remarks with dignity. The day I started to lock, I found my natural beauty. I found my strength. I found my roots. I found Africa. I found self pride. The day I locked, I found myself.

Kelli Norton Jones

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