Growing My Hair Changed the Way I See Myself

What my braids taught me about identity, discipline, and becoming

For most of my life, I kept my hair low. Clean fades, sharp lines, that neat look that says I’ve got it together. I never went more than 4/5days without a cut. – Teddy my barber, can contest this. It was a

look that matched how I wanted the world to see me—controlled, composed, always on point. But at some point, I realized the same control that made me look put together was actually the thing keeping me from becoming.

When I decided to grow my hair and start getting braids, I didn’t think much of it at first. I just wanted a change – no midlife crisis people. BUUUUUUT braids have a funny way of teaching you patience, and I was searching for things to ground me. They hurt at first, take hours to do, and force you to sit still—something I hadn’t done in a while.

There’s another layer in this journey that I don’t talk about often— living with ADHD and trying to practice patience.

For people like me, patience doesn’t come easy. My mind is always racing, craving motion and stimulation. But growing my hair—and committing to braids—forced me into stillness. Sitting in that chair for hours while someone parts your hair row by row, your neck stiff, your phone too far to reach.

Wash days that turn into full events—detangling, conditioning, drying, oiling—each step testing how long you can stay focused before your mind drifts off.

Then there’s the upkeep: remembering to wrap your hair at night, tie the scarf right, or wear a durag so your braids don’t frizz; switching to silk pillowcases because cotton steals moisture. Every little step demands consistency, and consistency is something ADHD doesn’t naturally give you. I’d catch myself skipping steps, rushing through routines, or getting frustrated halfway in. But the truth is, those tiny acts—the ones that feel repetitive or tedious—are exactly what build discipline.

Growth forced me to slow down and show up for the details. And somewhere between the durags, the conditioners, and the hours in the salon, I realized patience isn’t just about waiting—it’s about staying present while you do.

It’s not just your patience that matters— it’s also about finding people who have the patience to help you grow.

My amazing braider; Mel deserves her own shout-out; she let me ask a hundred questions a minute, every single appointment, not just the first one. That kind of grace is rare.

And then there’s my friend Kay Cola, who literally walked me through every product in her line—how to use each one step by step, what to order and how to protect my hair.

Learning my new routine: using OrganiGrowHairCo’s men’s-care line (YES, the one from their Men Love Us collection). That choice wasn’t just cosmetic, or as advertised—it marked a shift in how I cared for what I was growing, both inside and out. The fact that they’ve helped thousands of men dealing with thinning or hair loss through organic, vegan, and Black-owned solutions? All wins.

But before the neat rows and clean parts, there’s that awkward in-between. The “you growing your hair out?” stage. The curls that won’t lay right. The days you think about cutting it all off. That stage became something deeper than I planned. I started realizing how often I’d tried to skip the process in life the same way I wanted to skip the ugly stage of growing my hair. I wanted the final look without the uncomfortable middle. The success without the silence.

The recognition without the rebuilding.

But real growth doesn’t care about what looks good—it’s about what’s becoming good. There’s something about seeing your reflection change that makes you question who you’ve been.

For years, I’d associated my image with control: sharp haircuts, clean clothes, perfect posture. Growing my hair and rocking braids forced me to let go of that perfection. It made me confront the parts of myself that were still trying to fit into other people’s expectations.

And in that letting go, I started finding peace.

Now don’t get me wrong—I still get a fade, even with the braids. It’s just different now. It’s less about keeping up appearances and more about staying grounded in who I am. The fade isn’t the focus anymore; it’s just part of the rhythm. That clean edge reminds me that growth doesn’t mean neglect—it means balance. You can maintain yourself while still letting yourself evolve.

People started saying things like, “You’re different now.” And they were right. I was becoming more of myself. The braids were just the symbol. It’s wild how something so physical can shift something spiritual. The more my hair grew, the less I cared about approval, and the more I started caring about alignment.

I learned that growth isn’t linear—it’s layered. It’s messy and ugly..

Some days you see progress; some days it feels like nothing’s changing.

But when you step back, you realize it’s all happening beneath the surface. That’s how life works too. You don’t always see the results of what you’re becoming while you’re in the process.

But it’s working, even when it looks like it’s not.

There’s also humility in maintenance. Taking care of my hair meant slowing down. It

meant learning new routines, asking questions, listening to people who’d been there before me. And that’s when I realized: growing into yourself requires community. You can’t do it alone. Someone has to teach you the right oils, the right technique, the right mindset. People at OrganiGrow weren’t just selling a product—they were part of the ecosystem that helped me tend to what was growing.

Now, when I look in the mirror, I don’t just see braids. I see patience. I see every conversation that shifted my mindset. Every prayer I didn’t think was being answered. Every version of myself that I had to let go of to get here.

The growth is personal, but the gratitude is collective.

So yeah—growing my hair changed the way I see myself. But more than that, it changed the way I move. It reminded me that transformation doesn’t have to be loud to be real. That the process is still the blessing.

And that sometimes, the most radical thing you can do is stop cutting away what’s trying to grow.