Being curly for these last 3 weeks has changed my life. No, really.

There are at least 100 different reasons that I made the decision and at least as many reasons that this was the right decision for me.

We only get one chance to go through this life. Only one. Yet, miraculously, there are infinitesimal options for how we do so. Every moment presents hundreds of questions -- are you happy? Are you proud? Are you honest? Are you authentic? Are you living your truth? I believe I've long heard the questions, in silent moments and even when the world around me is loud. What's changed is that as I get older, I am starting to understand how serious the questions are. They should not be answered flippantly or mechanically. We must sit. Listen. Ponder. Come to an answer, and then start the process over again.

One adage says that the qualities you abhor in others are often the very qualities that you yourself possess. As time goes on, I have become more and more annoyed at fake hair. It's not about the person wearing the hair, for I understand that a person's perception of themselves and their opinions of beauty are intensely personal. But, still... There's something so... fake about it. Wearing fake hair is like trying to lie to the whole world. You're lying to your friends, your family, and to strangers because you're afraid that they will negatively judge your true self.

Ouch.

I know I'm betraying a sisterhood thing here, but I think it's worse for black women. So many women, descended from Africa have decided that the way for them to be beautiful and desirable, the way for them to achieve status is to wear hair that did not come from them! How crazy is that? They walk around with some other human's hair on their head, and act as if it's their own! For the last two years, it's started to really bother me. I often want to walk up to these women and say, "Who do you think you're fooling? We all know that's not your hair!" Their hair is curly -- amazingly curly -- far curlier than most non-black people can imagine, and they hide it. They are so ashamed that they are willing to pay a good deal of money to trick people into thinking that the stick straight, down-to-their-rear hair is theirs.

But, we all know the truth. Even they know the truth. Hell, they know that we know the truth.

I digress.

As time passes, I realized that I was becoming more and more judgmental of these women who choose to go fake. And then, in a moment of truth, I realized that I was choosing to go fake.

The flat irons, the keratin treatments, the blow dryers, the small fortune, and the hours and hours and hours (literally, three or more hours to wash, blow dry, and flat iron my hair!) spent on trying to make everyone believe that I had straight hair. Please. Who was I fooling?!?! People may not have known how curly my hair was, but surely nobody was foolish enough to believe it was straight.

But, the questions caught up with me. Are you happy? Are you proud? Are you honest? Are you authentic? Are you living your truth? No. No. No. No. And, no. Wow. It's scary how someone so judgmental could be so guilty of what she was judging others for.

Anyway, when I realized that I was taking part in the great American Fake Out, I realized that the time had come to stop. Gently, slowly, keep your hands where I can see them, and put down the flat iron.

So I did.

And it's been a whole new life. I look in the mirror a lot more, but not because I think I look so darn good -- it's mostly because I don't recognize myself. Literally. I wash my hair a lot more -- trust me, you should be thankful for this! I feel free. I don't worry about rainstorms or wind, or fly aways. Being curly is liberating. I feel like I'm being a good role model -- walking around and announcing the world that I'm proud of who I am, and that I'm not sorry for being authentic. It makes me feel like I'm someone to look up to -- a feeling that I certainly never had when I was pretending to be stick straight.

Overall, I feel happy. Finally, after all of these years, I have realized that I am good enough. Who I am, without a flat iron, is beautiful and worthy of praise. One day, when I have kids that will inevitably be curly, I can tell them that they're beautiful and they'll know that I'm not just saying that! They'll feel proud that they have curls like their mommy does, and just like mommy, they'll wear them proudly. Their first ideas of their hair will be that it's perfect and beautiful. Just as it is.

*Sigh*

It was time for this. It was time to be honest. Time to really, truly accept myself -- not just in words, but in action and in a way that is evident to the world.

This newly-found self-pride is such a relief. It feels more liberating than I can explain, and I'm really just basking in the light that radiates from this honesty that is daily pouring through my life. It's amazing how much changes when you put down the flat iron.