Chapter Two: The Strand That Started It All

Every strand carries memory. Every knot holds a lesson.

My hair story does not start with a product or a brand. It starts with a knot.

Childhood

One of my earliest memories of caring for my hair begins with a knot.

Up until that moment, my hair felt like a responsibility I did not fully understand. My mom handled everything. The washing. The detangling. The careful styling. My hair was long, waist-length, thick, and I was tender-headed. Wash days felt overwhelming for both of us. And my grandmother was always there too, rebraiding, conditioning, maintaining. My hair was a whole process, and the women in my life carried that process with love, even when it was a lot.

Then one day, when I was nine years old, my mom decided it was time.

"It's your turn," she said, handing me shampoo, conditioner, and a comb.

Just like that, I was in charge with no roadmap.

I washed it. I conditioned it. In my nine year old logic, that meant it was done. I skipped detangling completely. I thought it was optional. I was so tender headed that combing felt unbearable. I slicked it back into a bun and moved on, unaware of the storm forming underneath.

Days later, I discovered what I now call The Knot.

Not one knot. Many. Some small and stubborn. Others large and matted. My hair had intertwined with itself in ways I did not know how to undo. Panicked, I grabbed a comb and started from the top down, tightening every tangle instead of loosening it.

I felt stuck.

In that moment, I had two choices. Ask for help or try to fix it myself.

I chose the scissors.

In my mind, trimming a few pieces would solve everything. The truth revealed itself quickly. My once long, flowing hair was uneven and choppy. I hid it in a bun, hoping no one would notice.

The next day, a small section stood straight up, refusing to be concealed.

My mom saw it immediately.

"What did you do?" she asked gently. I could hear the concern in her voice.

When she unraveled my bun, the evidence was undeniable. I expected anger. Instead, she sighed, not in disappointment but in understanding. She grabbed the scissors and carefully reshaped what she could.

Looking back now, I do not see that moment as a disaster. I see it as the beginning. That knot was not just about tangled hair. It was about responsibility. Pride. Frustration. Fear.

Eventually, growth.

It was my first lesson in understanding that textured hair requires patience, knowledge, and care.

The Teen Years

If childhood was about learning my hair existed, my teenage years were about trying to escape it.

Like a lot of girls, I discovered the flat iron and for a while that felt like freedom. My thick coily hair pressed out flat and smooth and suddenly I felt like I fit in. My friends had wavy and straight hair, nothing like my dense coily texture, and I wanted what they had. So I chased it. Every day. With heat I had no business using.

It got worse before it got better. I started bleaching. The first time my hair looked so cute I thought I had figured something out. But after the second bleach my hair started to fall out. Not a little. Noticeably. And I knew something was wrong but I was not ready to change yet.

Then came the clothing iron.

I was running late one morning and grabbed the first thing I could find to press my hair. I burned my side bangs so badly they broke off completely. Standing there looking at what I had done, something shifted. I had been watching natural hair videos for a while at that point but they had not been enough to make me actually change. Somehow that moment was.

I put the heat down and I did not pick it back up.

Finding My Community

I went on the internet looking for answers, and I found something I was not expecting. I found my people.

Women with hair just like mine. Dense. Thick. Coily. Women who had grown up being told their hair was too much. Women who had relaxers before they could form full sentences. Women who had spent years shrinking themselves to fit a standard that was never built for them. And they were done with all of it.

I fell in love. With the locs. The coils. The braids. The kinks. I was obsessed in the best way.

The creators who changed everything for me were Natural85, That Chic Natural, Glam Twins, Natural Neiicey, The Notorious Kia, and Curly Proverbs. These women were my instruction manual. They taught me that my hair was not a problem to be solved. It was something to be learned, nourished, and celebrated. And to every other creator who was a part of that movement, this is a shoutout to you too. You may not know it but you changed lives.

Starting From Scratch

My hair at that point was heat-damaged, thin, and tired. I had to start completely over.

So I did. I built a routine. I experimented with products. I made DIY hair masks, butters, oils, and gels. I tested everything. There was a lot of trial and error but slowly my hair started to hit milestones I never knew it could reach.

After a while, people started asking me what I was doing. What was I using? How was my hair growing so fast and looking so healthy?

That question planted a seed.

And that seed became Simply 7.

But that is a story for the next chapter.

Tikuri Collection. Where Every Strand Has A Story.