From Chemical Burns to Natural Curls: A Story of Pain, Growth and Empowerment
When I think about my natural hair, the first thing that comes to mind is pain. As a young girl, I remember crying while getting braids or feeling my scalp burn from the chemicals in relaxers. With very fine hair that didn’t start growing until I was two years old, my hair always seemed like something I should worry about.
Growing up, I often felt like my hair could shape the opportunities I’d have in life. Of course, there was skin color, but it seemed like my hair had the power to either open doors or close them. My dad had locs, and I always thought he looked incredibly cool. I even found some old photos of my mom with them too, which only deepened my admiration.
So, one day, I decided I wanted locs as well. Excited, I went to my dad and shared my plans, thinking he’d be moved. But instead of enthusiasm, he expressed concern. He explained how his own locs had brought challenges, particularly when it came to work and how people viewed him. It wasn’t what I expected to hear, and it made me realize just how complicated something as personal as hair could be.
A quote from Lauryn Hill about Bob Marley has always resonated with me after that talk with my dad. In Interlude 5 of the Unplugged album, she says: “We look at Bob Marley, you know, and we say Ok, let's just grow locs and wear the clothes and have the band and we have no idea how many years of struggle and pain and suffering that made that content. You see what I'm saying? You can't get it from the outside in. Truth is from the inside out.”
As a Black girl in the Netherlands, I came to realize that my desire to grow locs wasn’t just about style—it was about seeking a sense of security and comfort in my appearance. The hairstyles I’d been wearing, whether weaves, wigs, or even braids, never felt quite right. They left me feeling unsettled, like I was trying to fit into something that wasn’t truly me.
This realization made it clear that there was deeper inner work to be done. I needed to fully accept my hair in its natural state. Even now, whenever I leave my hair out, people often ask, "Are you on your way to get braids?" or "Are you going to the hairdresser?" as if the idea of just wearing my natural hair doesn’t quite compute. It’s a reminder of how much our society still expects Black women’s hair to be altered or styled in specific ways to be acceptable.
I think about this a lot. While I can’t say I’ve fully made peace with my hair yet, I’m a long way from the days when I believed it was unmanageable.
To celebrate the rich, complex, and beautiful world of Black hair, I created a product photography series that focuses on the tools and products that have shaped my hair journey. These are items I’ve known and loved, fallen out of love with, and sometimes rediscovered all over again. From the days of straightening to embracing the natural products we now use to enhance our curls, this journey has been deeply personal, and I wanted to honor it through photography.
For the main image, I chose to create a ‘shelfie,’ featuring products that are familiar to me, blending the old and the new, offering a glimpse into my hair care evolution. The second image in the series is a collage of iconic hair tools, representing the staples that have been part of this shared journey. Finally, the third image showcases a detangling brush working through curly, coarse-textured hair—a tribute to the daily care and love that goes into nurturing our natural textures.
As I wrote this, I realized the content became heavier than I intended. However, I don’t want to sugarcoat my personal experience for the sake of easier reading.
To close this blog, I want to share a final thought: the way we view our hair is deeply influenced by our upbringing. It’s essential to teach children from a young age that their hair is beautiful just as it is—that it doesn’t need to be changed or altered to be considered acceptable. My hope is that one day, the world, including workplaces, will be safe and open enough to truly embrace this belief.
Text by Winny Sandvliet
Photos by Frame It Right Studio
