Braids, Beads, and Grace: A Reflection on Hair, Healing, and Holding Space

I've been doing my daughter's hair since she was about seven or eight months old - basically since the moment I could safely put it in pigtails. I actually enjoy doing her hair. I see it as a sacred honor and privilege to care for it. It's our special bonding time.

But this morning, as I gently parted and combed through her curls, I felt frustration creeping in. I took a deep breath and kept going. Now that she's older and more mobile, she squirms more (as toddlers do), eager to run and explore. When I ask her to lean her head back, she'll sometimes resist - not to defy me, but because that toddler autonomy we've been so intentional about nurturing is now thriving (lol...and whew).

Still, in that moment, of frustration, I found myself thinking about the mothers for whom hair time isn't sacred - it's stressful. The ones who yell or curse. Not because they want to, but because those are the only tools they've ever known.

I remember witnessing this growing up - mothers, aunties, and older cousins doing girls' hair with a mix of love and tension. I remember sitting for hours as my hair was braided and beaded, the sting of a rat-tail comb tapping my shoulder when I moved too much. "Sit still," they'd say. And even if it wasn't said harshly, it didn't always feel gentle.

I hesitate to call those moments "traumatic" - it feels heavy to do so - but the therapist in me knows that's what they were. And I know I'm not alone; these moments are a shared experience across generations in our community.

For a long time, I held deep resentment for the women who yelled, cursed, or popped us when we were just being kids. If I'm being honest, some of that resentment still lingers. But I'm also learning to hold space for both the disappointment and the empathy.

Yes, I'm disappointed that they didn't always have the patience we needed. But as a mother now, I get it. Truly. I understand that I have access to tools and resources that many of them didn't. I have support systems. I have therapy. I have language for what I'm feeling. They didn't.

Their sighs, their yelling, their cursing - it was the overflow of unacknowledged stress, exhaustion, and survival. When you're carrying the weight of the world, a child crying over beads and braids can feel like just one more mountain you don't have the energy to climb.

So I ask myself:

What would have changed if these women have been met with empathy instead of judgement?

What if someone had paused to ask how they were, not just what they were doing?

What kind of world could we build if we truly saw each other - especially the women - especially the mothers?

This is not to place that burden on the children, because it is absolutely not theirs to carry. Children should not be made to feel afraid or shamed for simply being children. This is about other women meeting women where they are, with love. When we lead with empathy, our hearts soften. Our communities grow stronger. We turn toward each other, not away.

So to the mother overwhelmed by braids, beads, and big feelings: I see you.

To the auntie trying to press edges while pressed for time and resources: I see you.

Take a breath. Pause.

You are worth the pause.

You deserve ease.

You owe it to yourself to show up as your whole self - cared for, not just useful.