The Struggle With My Curly Hair

It's Been a Journey

Me in the Dominican Republic

I don’t remember my mom doing my hair—or rather, I don’t have memories of her doing it. But when I looked through old photo albums from before the divorce, back when I lived with her, my hair was always done.

After the divorce, I moved in with my dad, who lived with my grandma, aunt, and uncle. That’s when I stopped having someone regularly do my hair—or at least, I don’t remember anyone taking care of it consistently.

In my memory, my hair was always a tangled mess. My grandma used to tell my dad to take me to the salon, which in Dominican culture meant getting it straightened—because straight hair was considered “done” and “pretty.” I remember one visit when the stylist let water run down my back while washing my hair. I was too afraid to speak up, and I left with a soaked shirt. Ever since then, I can’t stand the feeling of wet fabric against my back—or wet curls touching my skin.

There was one time my aunt sat with me in the bathroom for what felt like hours, gently detangling my hair while telling me a story I’m pretty sure she made up on the spot. Still, I appreciated her effort.

But for most of elementary school, I wore my hair in a low ponytail, full of knots. I once told a friend, in frustration, that I wanted to cut a chunk off. I showed her the exact spot—the knottiest part—and her eyes widened in disbelief.

This friend had straight hair. And I was jealous. Jealous that her hair dried straight, didn’t poof up, and always looked done. That was the beginning of me hating my hair—as early as elementary school.

In sixth grade, I remember feeling brave enough to wear my hair down in its natural curly state. I didn’t know how to style it and probably didn’t use the right products. Curly hair is unpredictable—no two days are the same. I was trying something new since I had always worn it in a low ponytail.

As I walked toward the 6th-grade entrance one morning, a boy shouted, “Hey, Heidy, did you get electrocuted?” right in front of everyone. My face flushed with embarrassment. I immediately tied my hair up and cried. After that, I wore a low bun every day—for the next three years.

Fast forward to high school. I was 14 and had just landed my first job at a hair salon owned by one of my grandma’s friends. She had set it up for me. I remember asking my grandma to come with me on my first day, which didn’t go well—we showed up around noon instead of in the morning, the busiest time.

The owner said I’d be washing hair and putting in rollers—two things I had never done. I did my best, but I knew I did a terrible job. Still, she was kind and paid me, then asked me to come back during the week when it was slower so she could train me.

Weekdays at the salon were a completely different pace. She taught me how to properly wash hair and use rollers, and I got pretty good—fast, even. One perk of working at a salon? Free hair services. My hair was straightened all the time! During the school year, I worked Saturdays when I didn’t have volleyball tournaments, and in the summer, I worked Tuesday through Saturday. They always did my hair for school dances. For the first time, I felt like I had control over my hair—even if someone else was still doing it for me.

Eventually, I learned to straighten my own hair. But I rarely wore it curly. Even in my early 20s, I chose to straighten it—it felt prettier, more manageable.

Senior Year in High School

When I started my career as a medical biller and coder, I worked at the corporate office of a Dominican-owned primary care group. The owner’s wife—an IT genius—preferred female employees to wear makeup, straightened hair, and heels. This was normal in Dominican office culture, so I went along with it. I straightened my hair all the time, wore heels daily, and was even known for my bold lipstick colors—especially red. But that’s a different story.

At My Corporate Job

Then, in 2017, I started dating my now-husband. Early on, he told me he’s always loved curly hair on women. I was surprised—he’s Dominican, and most Dominican women straighten their hair. But he liked what he liked. I told him I could try wearing mine curly more often, but warned him that my curls were gone. And they were—heat damage had taken its toll.

Over time, I began embracing my natural curls again. Slowly, they returned. Now, I wear my hair curly almost all the time. When I joke about how I didn’t have curls when we met, he says, “You’re welcome.”

When my curls were gone!

It’s been a journey, but I’m grateful for where I am. I want to instill the same love for curls in my daughter. There was a time when she only wanted her hair straightened—she thought it looked prettier and was easier to manage. But I told her, “Mommy wears her hair curly, and so does your aunt. We embrace our natural hair.” Her curls are gorgeous—better than mine—and I want her to love them just as much as I do.

I’ll admit: curly hair is a lot of work. It tangles easily and takes time to detangle. So yes, I am counting down the days until she can do her own hair—LOL.

People often compliment my curls today and are shocked when I say I used to hate them. I remember a time when everyone wanted straight hair. But curly hair? I don’t remember it ever being trendy. Was it? Let me know if I missed that era.

Thanks for reading.

With love, Heidy

My Curls Today