Change Is Messy

If you've been anywhere near my social media in the last three months, you already know. I cut my hair. Eight years of locs- gone.

Eight years. The hair that I'm almost certain helped me get bookings. The hair that was my most recognizable feature. The hair that, if I'm being completely honest with myself, had become my identity. I just didn't realize how much until I was holding it up for a selfie.

The moment it was done I felt electric. Y'all know that song by India Arie, I am not my hair? Yea, because in that moment I genuinely believed it. I felt free, bold, like I had just made the most intentional decision of my life without consulting with friends.

That feeling lasted about forty five minutes.

I had a flight in two hours. So after washing and conditioning my new, scissor-happy, freshly combed out hair, I threw on a hat and headed to the airport. At customs, the agent asked me to remove my hat and look into the camera.

The person looking back at me was a stranger. And not in a cute, liberating way. In a who is this and what why do I look like that way.

I looked a mess.

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/effa11_72f3cefcc77949e5908c97c4ab2212f6/1080p/mp4/file.mp4

The next morning I stood in front of the mirror and realized I had no idea what to do with what was on my head. I didn't have products. I didn't have a routine. I had eight years of muscle memory for hair that no longer existed. So I did what any reasonable person does in 2026, I asked ChatGPT, ordered everything it recommended off Amazon, and had it shipped to my next destination.

The products arrived. But I'm an Aries. By day two I couldn't look at myself anymore, so I got it braided. Cornrows. And honestly? I loved it. Two weeks of genuine confidence. I felt like myself again.

Then the braids started getting fuzzy and I was quoted $80 every two weeks to maintain them. When I had my locs I did my own hair, on my own schedule, for almost nothing. So that wasn't happening.

The cornrows came out. Back to the bird's nest.

I used the products. I figured out I just needed a shape up and color correction, that was the problem. So I went to a barber for the first time in years. Fifty dollars. I asked him to work with my natural texture, instead of the picked out fro he gave me. I suggested he wet my hair first so he could see what he was actually working with. He said "Don't worry, I got it."

He did, mostly. Until I wet my hair later and realized he'd taken off the first half inch of my curl pattern. But it was better than before. So I was alright, and taught myself how to twist the short curls into the longer curls.

I fixed the color. I built a routine. I did this for a month, some days loving it, some days hating it, every single day debating with myself if I should just reattach my locs at the three month mark. That would be enough time to know.

Then this week happened.

I'm back in Brazil. My locs, the ones that were removed, are still here, I held on to them just in case. I could reattach them tomorrow if I wanted to. But instead I went to a barber in São Paulo, sat down, and asked for a fade on the sides. Twelve dollars. He asked questions while he cut. Made suggestions. Listened.

When I woke up the next morning and looked in the mirror, for the first time in three months that feeling in my chest, that low hum of just go back to what you know, was gone.

I actually loved what I saw. Not in a settling way. In a this is me now way.

And y'all that's when it hit me.

Change is messy. It's uncomfortable and awkward and some days it genuinely looks bad. There will be moments you hate it, moments you barely tolerate it, and moments where going back to what you know feels like the most logical thing in the world. The comfort of the familiar is real and it's powerful.

But if you give yourself the space, the actual grace and patience, to figure out this new version of yourself outside of your comfort zone, something shifts. One morning you'll wake up, look in the mirror, and feel genuinely excited by the person you're becoming.

Not the person you were.

The person you're finding.

And I think it's worth the messy middle.