I spent so many years wondering why God gave me a decent-looking face—or so people say—and hair that looks the way it does.
He could’ve given me decent hair too.

I figured God must’ve done this on purpose.
But why?

I spent my whole life unable to get over it.
I never thought there’d come a day when I’d utter the words “I love my hair.”

I still feel like my friends are joking when they tell me I have nice hair.
It’s because I’ve struggled a lot with my hair.
I don’t think I’ve fully gotten over those struggles.

But there’s something magical about self-acceptance.
It makes you able to deal with life more peacefully.
After learning to love my hair, I stopped caring about people’s opinions.
I don’t care about the whole thing anymore. I don’t care what my hair looks like.

It makes me angry, the way we let people shape our opinions of ourselves.
And how we let them make us feel ugly and dissatisfied with the way we look.
And at the end you find out it isn’t even true. It doesn’t even matter.

All these girls would’ve gone through life thinking they were ugly if we hadn’t spoken up about it, supported one other, and rejected those narratives.

No one deserves to feel bad about the way they look.
That’s such a cruel thing.