I am cracking up because 1) They were extra crazy today because I slept with them in a bun last night, 2) After watching both this video and the one from when they were 8 months, I realized I said many of the same exact things, and 3) A public speaker I am not. But people are always so curious, so here they are, at just over two years.
Filed under about me, dreadlocks
A couple weeks ago, one of my yoga students was asking me about my hair… why I did it, how long I’d had them, etc. She laughed at how often I kept using the word, “journey”. But I absolutely couldn’t help it. Dreadlocks are a journey. There’s no better word to describe them. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence at all that I decided to do them the same year that I messed up my shoulder, making any sort of maintenance on them nearly impossible, forcing me to go the route of “neglect” and just let go and let them be. They represent my life – and my year – well. Sort of a mess, but with the promise of something beautiful underneath.
Looking back on my three month update cracks me up. I was waxing poetic about embracing the chaos and learning to love the lumps and loops… which absolutely still holds true… but I didn’t yet know what it was I was talking about. At three months, they were still organized and relatively straight and tidy. Because they weren’t dreads yet. They hadn’t even begun to actually lock up and become what they would eventually be. They were still just babies, not much more than potential dreads:
Now, at one year, I feel like I’m really getting it. And I also recognize, unequivocally, that I’m very much at the beginning of this journey. They’re just now really starting to lock up. They are crazy. Some are fat. Some are thin. Some are scrunched up to four inches, some are long. Some have huge bumps, others have huge loops. Some are all twisted, some are straight. Some have beads that are now physically impossible to get out. One apparently split into two at one point, and is now a giant two pronged fork. Each one is different.
Each one tells its own story.
About five months ago, I had a moment of freak-out and almost combed them out. I’m so glad I didn’t. My dread story isn’t done yet. It’s only just begun. And now I just… wait. And watch. And continue to let them grow and mature and be. While I continue to grow and mature and be right beside them.
Filed under about me, dreadlocks
My crazy dreads are 8 months old! Here’s what they’re doing… And I apologize for all the “ums”. There’s a reason I typically write instead of, well, speak. 🙂
Filed under about me, dreadlocks, update
My dreads are three months old. Which means for ninety something days now, I’ve been carrying around these ropy, tangly, matted knots, instead of the long, thick wavy hair that partially defined me for all of my previous 38 years. And they look, well… they’re a huge mess. Their current appearance does not do much to help the opinions of my mom all the people who think that dreadlocks are unkempt or unwashed. Despite my tender loving care, some days they look a little bit – or a lot – of both. I feel this overwhelming need to say that out loud, because I can feel the looks. I can feel the wordless stares. Not necessarily because I have dreadlocks, but because I have crazy, messy, rebellious teenage dreadlocks. They’re a mess. I’m aware.
They are filled with crazy loops and twists and lumps and bumps. All of which are a normal progression in the journey of dreadlocks (and actually a good sign that they are doing what they are supposed to do), but somehow very different in reality than they were when they were merely hypothetical. There are things to do to “tame” the loops a little quicker… there are techniques that involve basically poking and threading with big needles, and/or I could always find a salon that does dread maintenance.
BUT. And it’s a big but. I’ve decided to embrace the chaos.
Some of the “maintenance” recommended by certain websites and schools of thought can actually cause a lot of damage. And the last thing I want is to commit to a long-term hairstyle, only to have them thin and fall out because I didn’t treat them properly! More than that though, is this linear idea that neat, perfect and uniform = beautiful. Did I decide to take this drastic and bold step with my hair, only to make it look like everyone else’s? If I’d wanted that, I could have gotten perfectly round extensions. No, what I signed up for was a journey. I’m surely not done with my own journey of growth, so why should my hair be any different? I have bad days and bumpy days and setbacks… but I am learning to trust that there is beauty, not just in the end, but in the process.
I didn’t like what I’d started to see in myself over the past several weeks as my hair changed. Me, forever proud not to be overly attached to things like make-up, hairstyles, and fashion… I was mourning my old hair. I’d be fine for a few days, hiding it all under a buff or bandana, and then I’d take a good look in the mirror, wanting to look nice for church or dinner or just a day out. On one shoulder would be the confidence. “You can own this! You’re awesome!” And on the other, would be that insecure teenager again. “But. But. It’s not pretty.”
I am so much more than my hair.
At the same time, my hair’s become an outward symbol of an inward process, more so than I ever could have imagined when I started this journey three months ago. I look forward to having mature, beautiful dreads in a couple of years. I do. But now, I look forward to the journey even more… loops, bumps, and all.
Once a little boy was playing outdoors and found a fascinating caterpillar. He carefully picked it up and took it home to show his mother. He asked his mother if he could keep it, and she said he could if he would take good care of it.
The little boy got a large jar from his mother and put plants to eat, and a stick to climb on, in the jar. Every day he watched the caterpillar and brought it new plants to eat.
One day the caterpillar climbed up the stick and started acting strangely. The boy worriedly called his mother who came and understood that the caterpillar was creating a cocoon. The mother explained to the boy how the caterpillar was going to go through a metamorphosis and become a butterfly.
The little boy was thrilled to hear about the changes his caterpillar would go through. He watched every day, waiting for the butterfly to emerge. One day it happened, a small hole appeared in the cocoon and the butterfly started to struggle to come out.
At first the boy was excited, but soon he became concerned. The butterfly was struggling so hard to get out! It looked like it couldn’t break free! It looked desperate! It looked like it was making no progress!
The boy was so concerned he decided to help. He ran to get scissors, and then walked back (because he had learned not to run with scissors…). He snipped the cocoon to make the hole bigger and the butterfly quickly emerged!
As the butterfly came out the boy was surprised. It had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings. He continued to watch the butterfly expecting that, at any moment, the wings would dry out, enlarge and expand to support the swollen body. He knew that in time the body would shrink and the butterfly’s wings would expand.
But neither happened!
The butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings.
It never was able to fly…
As the boy tried to figure out what had gone wrong his mother took him to talk to a scientist from a local college. He learned that the butterfly was SUPPOSED to struggle. In fact, the butterfly’s struggle to push its way through the tiny opening of the cocoon pushes the fluid out of its body and into its wings. Without the struggle, the butterfly would never, ever fly. The boy’s good intentions hurt the butterfly.
Struggling is an important part of any growth experience. In fact, it is the struggle that causes you to develop your ability to fly.
Filed under about me, acceptance, being happy with what is, dreadlocks, life, self image
As most of you know, a few days after my 38th birthday, I decided that I was going to fulfill a very long-held wish and dread my hair. A faithful friend came over and spent six hours carefully sectioning, backcombing, and keeping me company while we watched three whole chick flicks in a row.
Unfortunately, we weren’t quite as aggressive as we should have been with the backcombing. Less than a week – and one washing – later, they’d all fallen out. I was determined though (I am nothing if not determined), so over the course of the next few days, I re-did them, using a method known as the “twist and rip” method. It simply means taking the section of hair in two pieces, giving it a twist, then pulling it apart again, separating it in a new place each time. It. took. forever. especially since I was doing it myself. But it worked.
That was one month ago today, and I still have dreads! There’s a way to tuck the ends all in to make them all blunt and neat and tidy, but so far I like them free and wispy. They’re just babies, so most days they’re a big fuzzy mess, especially when I wash them (yes, people with dreadlocks wash their hair. I just use an organic, non-residue shampoo) Some are tight and some are loose. I have stray hairs and grey hairs everywhere. They bend all crazy, and they have odd loops and strange turns and random bumps.
I can’t wait to watch them grow and change and mature.
And in the meantime, I’m enjoying experimenting with them.
On the good days, when they’re not looking too ridiculous, I like wearing them with just a headband or a bandana.
So why did I do it?
(From least to most important)
3. I think they’re cool. Mature dreadlocks are just a striking, beautiful look to me, and it’s one I’ve been in awe of for years.
2. I’m lazy. Or more accurately, I prefer to spend the least amount of time as possible on my physical appearance. I’ve never been one to want to spend more than 30 seconds hours doing my hair and/or makeup, and the more kids I had, the more true that became. I barely wear makeup. I don’t straighten my hair. I can’t remember the last time I used a hair dryer. For the last several years, I’ve been a hair-in-a-ponytail 8 days out of 7 kind of girl. So you can imagine how attractive and freeing I find the idea of a hairstyle that I can literally just wash and wear and be ready to step out the door.
1. I wanted what I looked like on the outside to match what I felt like on the inside. My whole life, I’ve felt “different.” I’ve never been one to fit in with the crowd (any crowd), instead identifying most strongly with those on the outside. And rather than running from that truth, I want to embrace it. I want to embrace anything that helps me to feel more comfortable in my own skin, that helps me feel even more free from constraints, more free to relate to others, more free to be me. A couple of days ago in church, the lesson was in part about judging people by their hearts rather than by their physical appearance. People – whether they openly admit it or not – often tend to do the latter, while God looks strictly at the heart. At one point the pastor started listing things off: “God looks at your heart… not your tattoos, or your piercings, or your mohawk, or your purple hair, or your ‘tramp stamp’…” Mike and I looked at each other and just laughed, because you can find all of the above in our household. And while people may judge us for any or all of those things, God does not. God wants us to be free.
So while in many ways it’s just a small thing (it’s only hair after all), in a symbolic way, it is a huge thing. An outward reflection of an inner decision to reject being spoon-fed, to challenge the status quo, and to whole-heartedly embrace the search for truth and authenticity.
And over the next several months and years, as my dreads change and grow and mature…. so will I.
Filed under about me, acceptance, dreadlocks, life
I turned 38 yesterday. I am enjoying getting older, but I especially love the realization every year that I am just a little bit (or a lot) more authentically ME than I was the year before. For someone who floated through her teens and much of her twenties with nary an opinion in her head, that’s something to be celebrated for sure.
I like to make a big deal about my birthday, but the day itself was remarkable in its unremarkableness this year. I actually stayed home most of the day. We did our nails, we painted (at first on paper, but as is usually the case, eventually on bodies), we played outside, and we did all those things that people with kids do when they’re at home. Mike was going to be late coming home from work – clearly his employer didn’t get the memo that it was my birthday, because why else would payroll fall on the most important day of the year – so we filled the late afternoon with a last-minute trip to the store. By the time we got home it was 5:30, and I was ready to sit down for the first time all day and break into my new bottle of wine. But.
Then the girl put what I can only assume was half a roll of toilet paper in the toilet, sufficiently clogging it ….. and I then spent another half an hour plunging, flushing, and mopping up the resulting overflow. Glamorous finale to my day (bonus: my bathroom is extra clean now. Happy birthday to me.)
And then it was evening. Mike made it home, and I finally got to pour my wine. Despite the fact that he was feeling lousy from the cold he’d caught from the kids, he still made me the beautiful salad I’d been craving for days, while I worked on getting the cupcakes in the oven.
We don’t always, or usually, do birthday presents for each other, but this year he’d come home with a little gift for me. I’m not kidding when I say it was the best thing he’s ever gotten me.
Now, the visual of him going into an incense-burning, bong-selling, hippie store in his serious-button-down-office-man attire just for me was almost present enough in and of itself. But that’s not why I loved it. It smells and feels really good, and is supposed to be great for keeping dreads soft and moisturized and non-frizzy… but that’s not why I loved it either. I loved it because it said something. It said:
I support you.
I have wanted to dread my hair for probably two years now, and recently decided that this would be the year I did it. Like my nose ring, my husband wasn’t super enamored with the idea in the beginning. And also like my nose ring, I would have done it regardless. But to have him fully on my side – not in a “It’s your body, do what you want” kind of way, but in a “I went out of my way to get you a present. I love you. I support you. Go, be you” kind of way – honestly means more to me than I think even he knows.
I don’t have a whole lot of people like that in my life. One of the reasons why I so love my online community is that it is truly one of a very few places where I feel that acceptance…. where I feel like I can really be me. In my online community, there are so many people who not only “get” me, but who also wouldn’t want me to be any other way. In my actual day to day life, not as many. But they’re there, and last night reminded me that I’m married to one of them.
And so, this year as my present to myself, I’m not just going to dread my hair. I’m also going to allow myself to stop wanting that support or acceptance from the people who are just honestly never going to give it…… and celebrating the heck out of the people who do.
Filed under about me, acceptance, birthdays, dreadlocks, life
I'm Jen... the shy, lost girl from the east coast who married at nineteen and eventually found herself - four kids later - in the middle of the desert. I like chocolate. You can read more about me here.
