Debra´s Autobiography

I remember my mom telling me a story that would forever leave its mark in my mind, as well as on my head. An otherwise pleasant, summer day at the Witherspoon household in Gary, Indiana would forever alter my appearance. Cutting pieces of paper on the living room floor sat an adventurous, five year old. Tired of being inside the house and bored with cutting paper, I decided I would play hair stylist. As I grabbed a pair of green, elementary school scissors I thought to myself that I was going to do something exciting. With each snip of the scissors my hair began to fall. It did not take long before I was sitting on the floor with a big plug missing from my natural hairline. In an attempt to disguise my actions and prevent any consequences I decided to hide the hair I’d cut.

As my mom entered the room and sat down on the couch behind me I pretended as though everything was normal. I tried to tell myself, “Maybe it isn’t that noticeable.” Her motherly instincts must have kicked in because something made my mom get up off the couch and look directly at me. To her surprise and horror a big hole greeted her as she gazed upon my face. I smiled as if to say, “I’m okay mom, don’t worry.” Unanswerable questions began to fly as my mom tried to diagnose the possible causes of the missing hair. At one point she thought I may have ringworms. I sat quietly as her concerns began to grow. “What happened to your hair Debra?” I simply replied, “I was bored.” I started to chuckle but my mom didn’t find any humor in my actions.

My laugh only angered and frustrated her even more. Looking at her facial expressions, I knew I was in big trouble. I felt her steamy, enlarged eyes descend upon me as her lips began to tighten. My heart started to thump rapidly as our eyes connected in silence. Feeling trapped and dumbfounded, I had no where to hide or escape to. Once she got a hold of me and I’d received my punishment I concluded this was the end to my hair experimentation days. The bald spot I’d created served as a constant reminder of my dependence on others.

Luckily at the age of twelve my aunt stepped in and offered some assistance. My sisters and I were told that from now on our cousin Lee, a licensed beautician, would be in charge of our hair. To my mom’s relief she informed me that I would now be responsible for maintaining my hair moving forward. I must have looked like a deer in head lights as I pleaded with her not to leave my side. She told me to stop worrying, relax, and focus on going to the shop. As I left the house, I happily thought to myself good riddance to that possessed pressing comb that left me with a few burns and mental scars.

(Continued)
My first day at the salon was a great learning experience and I tried to soak up as much information as my brain could hold. A mixture of scents from various products greeted me at the door as I stared at the Black American artwork on the walls. My sisters and I sat quietly waiting for cousin Lee to finish up with her morning clients.

When it was time for me to sit in Lee’s swinging, black chair she told me that upon my next visit I would be getting a relaxer. I thought to myself that a relaxer sounded really exciting and new. I desperately wanted to look like the women I saw in the black magazines. My sisters and I would sometimes argue about which girl they were in the magazines. I was so overjoyed at thought of having some added versatility with my chemically straightened style.

My enthusiasm for relaxers would become short lived. Before I arrived at high school I got my first job at the age of 14 to maintain my chemically processed hair. I worked at various odd jobs over the years to fund relaxers until my junior year of high school. As my junior year began I grew tired of working and paying for my hair to be treated with chemicals. I felt that it was time for a change.

One of the events that frustrated me the most was when I noticed my hair was thinning. I questioned myself as to why I kept paying $45 for my hair not to grow. In addition I realized it was not beneficial of me to pay more for a relaxer when natural locks would cost me $30. After consulting with Jesse, my beautician at the time, I told her of my decision to go natural. She warned me that breakage would occur due to the different textures. I understood what would happen, however I still wanted to go through with the process. As my natural hair began to sprout she continued to moisturize my locks and styled my hair in curls.

When it was time for me to go off to college I put my hair in a ponytail holder and chopped all my locks off. A smiled swept over my face when I realized I was finally free from the years of chemical treatments. As I stared in the mirror looking at my locks a great sense of pride washed over me; I now possessed my natural hair. I noticed an immediate variance in texture when working with my natural hair. My locks would be forever changed. I accepted the fact that my hair would no longer be the same, but I was not discouraged. Being relaxer free gave me the determination to gain knowledge about my hair by doing more research and conducting continued discussions with various individuals over the years on how to achieve healthy, unprocessed hair.

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My Hair Journey
Homemade Mama Style	Relaxed	Transition	Natural