There’s Only One You

One little hair tie. That’s all I wanted—the same little colorful hair ties my friends wore every day. I thought if I could make my hair look like theirs, I’d fit in a little better.

Every morning, I’d stand in front of the mirror determined to make it work. I’d gather my thick curls into one hand, stretch the tiny hair tie with the other and pull as hard as I could. Sometimes it snapped. Sometimes it got tangled. Sometimes it held for a few minutes before giving up. And every morning, I’d try again.

I never stopped to wonder if the problem wasn’t my hair. I simply believed I needed to try harder.

I didn’t realize I was trying to change something that never needed fixing.

My hair was thick and curly—the kind of curls that spiraled in every direction and refused to lie flat. My grandmother used to run her fingers through it and call it a crown. I didn’t believe her. A crown wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted a smooth, low ponytail like the girls at school, the kind that swung back and forth when they walked.

So I kept pulling. I brushed my hair dry until the curls frizzed and broke. I forced it into ties that were never made for hair like mine. Little by little, the strands near my edges began to thin and snap. I didn’t notice the damage at first. I was too busy chasing something that was never going to fit.

Hair grows back. Mine did, slowly, curl by curl. But the part of me that had decided my hair was a problem stayed a lot longer. I carried it into classrooms and lunch tables and school pictures, long after the broken strands had healed.

Maybe your hair has never given you a hard time. That’s OK. Fitting in has a way of showing up in all kinds of places.

Sometimes it’s laughing at a joke you didn’t think was funny, half a beat after everyone else. Sometimes it’s the hand that stays down when you actually know the answer, because a small voice whispers that raising it might make you look strange.

It can hide in the clothes you pick, the words you use and the things you pretend not to care about. One small choice at a time, you start shaping yourself around the room instead of letting the room get to know you.

There’s another feeling, though, and you’ve probably felt it without having a name for it.

It’s the friend who laughs at the joke you were nervous to tell. The one who asks what you think and then actually waits to hear the answer. The kids who save you a seat and want the real version of you sitting in it—the loud laugh, the odd hobby, the wild hair, the questions nobody else thinks to ask.

Hanging around people like that, you don’t have to shrink or stretch or pretend. You get to simply be. Your curls are welcome. Your ideas are welcome. The specific, surprising, wonderful things about you are the reason they’re glad you came. The people who are meant for you won’t ask you to become someone else before they make room for you.

Mirror, Mirror Activity

Grab a sheet of paper and draw the outline of a mirror — any shape you like. Inside it, finish these sentences in your own words:

• Something I love about myself is…
• One thing that makes me different is…
• When I feel most like myself, I’m…
• This year, I want people to know…

Then tape your mirror somewhere you’ll pass on your way out the door. Read it before school—on the mornings you remember, and especially on the mornings you forget.

Tomorrow morning, you’ll probably stand in front of a mirror. You’ll check your hair. Smooth your shirt. Pull your backpack onto your shoulders and get ready to walk out into the day. While you’re standing in front of that mirror, make sure you’re taking the most important person with you. The real you. The world already has everyone else. It only has one you.

Dr. Tamecca Rogers serves as Director of Student Access and Success at Tulsa Technology Center. An award-winning author and filmmaker, she is committed to diversity, equity and inclusion in all her endeavors. Photo by Denice Toombs-Dotson with Lasting Impressions Photography.