The student news site of Wayne State College

The Wayne Stater

  • May 7Welcome to

Hair phase that became an identity of freedom

Erika Schwartz, Staff Writer

Hang on for a minute...we're trying to find some more stories you might like.

Email This Story

When I was a little girl, my hair was always a disaster area. I can remember refusing to let anyone (especially my mother) touch my hair.

I hated having my hair pulled and tightened against my scalp. I hated the way my hair looked when it was all neat and tidy. Most of all, I hated that my frizzy, wavy hair wasn’t as luxurious and lovely as my sister’s golden locks.

As my mom fought and battled with me over my tangled knots, I can still here her saying, “I can’t wait until you grow out of this phase!”

Over Thanksgiving Break, my sister and I dug out all the photos from our childhood. We poured over each photo searching for even the tiniest details in each one: a box of cereal sitting on a kitchen chair; a pair of shoes splayed across the dining room floor; a container of matchbox cars sitting in the corner. As we sifted through there was always one thing in common: my messy, messy hair.

All I had to do was take one look in the mirror and I realized: I never grew out of it. Though my frizz and waves are slightly more controlled, my hair is still as tangled and crazy as when I was a little girl. It is just a part of me now. It is my identifier. I just never grew out of it.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about roots — where I began, where each of us began. Somedays, I look in the mirror and I don’t even recognize the little girl with wild hair and matching wild eyes.

I get worried that I’ve outgrown myself, that I have forgotten where I came from and the place that raised me. I am afraid the barefoot and wind-swept girl has left my soul.

But then, I catch a glimpse of myself passing in a window reflection and for a second I can see her — shoeless and wide-eyed staring at the sun. Or if I search for the tiniest details and connect the dots between freckles and eyelashes I can still remember what it felt like to be free enough to let the earth and leaves seep into my artist skin.

During the last year I feel as though I have changed so immensely — and I hope I continue to change. But, as I do, I want to grasp that little girl’s hand and hold on as tight as I can. I never want to outgrow how it feels to be wild and free.

Print Friendly, PDF & Email

Leave a Comment

The Wayne Stater intends for this area to be used to foster healthy, thought-provoking discussion. Comments are expected to adhere to our standards and to be respectful and constructive. As such, we do not permit the use of profanity, foul language, personal attacks, or the use of language that might be interpreted as libelous. Comments are reviewed and must be approved by a moderator to ensure that they meet these standards. The Wayne Stater does not allow anonymous comments, and The Wayne Stater requires a valid email address. The email address will not be displayed but will be used to confirm your comments.

If you want a picture to show with your comment, go get a gravatar.


The student news site of Wayne State College
Hair phase that became an identity of freedom