Getting to the Root

April 9, 2025

Spring 2023 I went to Mexico over my Spring Break. Prior to my trip I did “all the things”, to prepare for the hours I intended to spend in my sundresses and swimsuits soaking up that blazing hot sunshine. I got my crown freshly cut and colored, nails and toes done, brows arched and tinted, and made my waxing appointment. After the armpits and legs were snatched baby bottom smooth, I proceeded to get my regular Brazilian wax treatment. I left with only the hair on my head still on my body; I was definitely trip ready. I packed tweezers, clippers, and a razor in case any stray hair attempted to join me on the trip. I had a marvelous time and was pleased with how all my pics turned out. My sunkissed ass looked good as hell!! 

Upon returning from my trip, I recall when the hair started to grow back I felt a bit lazy in attending to it. After all, I had just been hanging out in Mexico and now needed a vacation from the vacation. First it was the prickly legs, then the prickly pubic stubble, and my pits were making their debut. I pep talked myself daily into leaving that shit be for about a week. By week 2, I began to announce to those around me, reasons why my legs weren’t shaved, or my pits were starting to get stubby looking. By week 3, I had to start really having a conversation with myself. The truth was, I used to love the hair on my body and I just didn’t feel like shaving! As a child and as a preteen, I had the biggest crushes on all of my maternal uncles’ girlfriends that had the biggest hair and the hairiest legs. It was the norm to see underarm hair and the line of fine hair peeking out from their bikinis. I couldn’t wait to become one of these big-hipped, full breasted, bad ass grown women because considering my hairy ass daddy’s genetic make-up, I knew I had a high chance of having a lot of said grown ass woman hair! 

By the time I was in middle school, my dad’s genes did not disappoint. I had a head full of long hair, hairy arms, legs, armpits and the baby pubs were pubin’! I was eagerly awaiting my latter teen years into womanhood as I too would be initiated into this Rite of Passage. The hair growth signaled to the world that I was on my way of leaving my childhood behind and stepping loudly, boldly, and visibly into this tribe of womanhood. I come from proud black people. I could not be more excited to be on this journey. Shortly after my cousins had full pubic hair and enough armpit hair to cover their underarms lightly, their periods arrived. I knew that meant my period would be on the way too. All of this excited me because in my little world, who wouldn’t want to become a woman and enjoy all the privileges that it seemed at the time to afford. I had spent most of my little life waiting for this level of growth. 

Colonization is a bitch.

And then something happened. I made the all white cheerleading squad at Charlotte Country Day School. I was not only the only black girl on the squad, but I was also chosen as co- captain. After congratulating me, my mother then made it abundantly clear that there was no way in hell I was going to be cheering at CCDS with those little white girls who looked like naked mole rats at best, with my hairy legs, armpits, or pubic hair peeking out from the cheer panty. I cried. HARD. The armpits and bikini line I could wrap my mind around, but losing the long, thick, slick hair on my legs was devastating and life changing. I argued with my mother and fought hard in a battle of wills that I now realize I was never going to win. I remember looking at my father with this silent desperate plea to save me from my mother and this horrible act. As she threatened and guided me to the bathroom, he looked away and clearly communicated that this was out of his realm of access. He could not help me. My mother and I sat on the side of the tub together and she used a combo of a funky ass smelling depilatory cream and a razor and removed every ounce of hair off of my legs from my ankles to my thighs and talked me through how to safely shave my underarms and trim my bikini line. My life changed that day. 

I learned several things. 

Despite growing up in a very pro-black household with loving and affirming black parents, white women set and were the standard of beauty out in the world where it mattered. Things that come with time like age and bodily changes, need to be pressed down, uprooted, plucked, ripped, masked, ignored, obliterated, suppressed, cut, colored, dyed, removed, shaved, snatched, tucked, sucked, and done away with immediately. Next, you are expected to grow without anything signaling that this growth is happening. It’s no fucking wonder that we as women are hard on ourselves and so disconnected from what we truly need for our growth. Almost 40 years of showing up in a body that I had not fully reclaimed as my own. I was still willingly shaving all of the hair on my body. I was still choosing to suppress some of the things that signaled my growth. Things that I had earned in this grown ass woman space that I now occupied. 

Getting to the Root: Dismantling why we make the choices for our bodies that we make.

Our hair

Our roots connect to the very essence of who we are and why we have come into this space and time. Our roots are like vines and sun rays that connect us to our very Source. As above, so below, as around, so within. Our hair, often defying gravity, rises to its Source. Our personal antennae; our connection to truth, earth, our surroundings and what is real. Our hair that beautifully retracts when humidity is in the air to let you know, wet weather is coming. Our hair that stands on end and prickles when some shit ain’t quite right. Our roots that don’t give a damn how much money nor how many hours you spent on those goddess braids, they are going to grow. Signaling that growth is happening underneath. 

Natural hair on bodies, natural hair on heads, faces natural with a cocoa and shea butter shine on it, that was the preference. When we began to desire to be accepted by colonized culture, we began to release the narrative that we weren’t good enough. The natural state of our entire BEingness was in question. Our beautiful brown and black bodies became something to be ashamed of. Our grown woman bodies are no longer appreciated, honored, and valued as the divine vessel that it is. We began to become conditioned that we bore the onus of staying young and pubescent in how we showed up in the world. Keep quiet, don’t grow any body hair, your blood is shameful and nasty, your ph something that should mimic lilac and roses. Your womanhood is something to be managed, controlled, and subdued unless it benefits the patriarchy. Patriarchy and colonialism have controlled the narrative of what is seen as feminine, soft, clean, desirable, attractive, non-threatening and acceptable. 

I wanted to be in harmony with my body as I am in Oneness with Mother Earth. I am in awe at how the flowers know when to bloom, the rains know when to fall, the birds know when to migrate, and the fall leaves know when to change colors, and fall to the ground at just the right time. These seasons are to be revered. Mother Earth can not be tamed or embarrassed into obedience. 

Fuck colonization and fuck the patriarchy.

I came back from Mexico and my primal instincts were activated. I had been conditioned to believe that this shaving regiment was now my preference, when in fact, this could not have been further from the truth. I had a primal yearning to be connected to my body the way I am connected to the earth. I am earth. I am a divine and miraculous force that breathes life into things. It can be difficult to differentiate our personal preferences from the things we have been conditioned or groomed to believe is our choice. I decided that I would not touch the rest of the hair on my body until I was clear what energetic pattern it was connected to. Growing out my body hair was my opportunity to show up fully expressed and in oneness with Mother Gaia. To tap into the truth of what I find desirable about me. This hair keeps me present. It is an extension of my nervous system, and one of my many nonverbal communication tools. I am in awe of it! Shave or don’t shave. Rock your rizos and locs or slay your lace front. Beat your face or shea butter that shit down. I support free will and believe in body sovereignty. I am simply saying, ask yourself who you are and who you would be as a fully expressed being if you hadn’t been conditioned to believe your natural state of womanhood wasn’t good enough and required altering to be so. 

A year and a half later, I’m hella clear: I absolutely positively LOVE my body hair and all that it has and continues to teach me. I grow the hair on my body because it is a part of my spiritual practice. It’s my way to be in oneness with the earth. It’s way damn bigger than the hair; it's about allowing myself and other women the safe space to show up as their full grown ass woman selves without feeling the need to contort themselves into a colonized, patriarchal construct of beauty. There are no such things as bad hair days for me now. All hair days are simply fucking divine. 

So when you see me out, arms raised in the highest hallelujah praises, light hairs adorning my bikini line with a smile on my face, yes, it’s hair you see. No need to feel shame or embarrassment for me. Come say hi and consider coming to get you some of this freedom and joy!

Love and Light, 

Jé 

NOTE: This is 1 of 4 blog posts from my original blog that I started in 2014. I share these first 4 with you and thank you in advance for being a witness to my journey.