“You can become an unremarkable part of my day or act in a way that makes me remember you.”

When I was a kid, I wanted to be unremarkable. I wanted to move through the world mostly unnoticed because to be noticed was to be bullied. To be noticed was to be punished. Being noticed brought problems and I didn’t want any more problems. So, I tried to be unmemorable and in no place was this more apparent than at the hairdresser.

I wasn’t a fan of getting my hair done. It was an all-day event that was at best boring, and at most incredibly painful. From the burned ears to the scarred scalp, getting my hair done was torturous. All because the texture of my hair as it grew out of my head was somehow a problem for everyone else except me. I didn’t really have an opinion on how my hair should look, I just knew that it took pain for it to meet everyone else’s expectations. I endured because that was the “normal” thing to do.

Every time I sat in the chair, my mom would say “remember she’s tenderheaded so you have to watch her” with derision. It was true — I’d hunch my shoulders and try to escape the pain of having my hair pulled so tight that the skin of my scalp would turn red. I’d move my head away from the scalding heat of the hot comb, having my complaints of being burned passed off as “just steam” as though steam doesn’t burn. I would beg my stylist to rinse my head before the timer would ring, only to be told “It’s not straight yet” as the scorching pain from the chemicals scalded my scalp. But somehow, the word “tenderheaded” bothered me more than any torture I experienced in that chair because tenderheaded meant I was remarkable because of my weakness.

Growing up as a Black MaGe, I’d learned that my weakness was a liability. Being weak, needing care or help were access points for predators. These were areas that could be exploited and used to harm me. They also made me inconvenient and therefore useless in the eyes of many. Expressing discomfort made me remarkable which also made me a target, so it became my goal to rid myself of that shameful descriptor and learn to endure the pain of styled hair. At least, until I was old enough to decide for myself whether I wanted to go to the hairdresser or not. And as soon as I had that level of autonomy, I stopped — at least until it became apparent that I could not meet societal expectations for my hair by myself and needed help.

My need for help came at an interesting point in my life. I was out of college, had a job, and was enjoying my independence without the constant interference from “authority” figures. I was calling my own shots in more aspects of my life than ever before. I chose what things I wanted to do. I controlled my entire life outside of work. When the time came to find a stylist, I asked around and when I finally did, the first thing I said was, “I’m tenderheaded — please be careful.” And for what felt like the first time in my life, someone asked, “what do you need?”

That one question shifted my entire perspective. Instead of being treated as an inconvenience that needed to be tolerated, I was treated as a person who had different needs. My needs were not only acknowledged but centered and instead of having to endure pain, we discussed options to eliminate the pain. I learned that getting my hair done didn’t have to hurt and while still tedious, inconvenient, and annoying, it was pain-free and enjoyable.

I began to apply this new knowledge in other areas of my life. When I began going to the dentist again, I mentioned shared that I had difficulty getting numb. My dentist and I tried different options when I needed dental work and allocated more time for my appointments to compensate for it. In the past, they would have just started working on my teeth regardless of my pain. I apply this in my workplaces by requesting accommodations that will help my performance and my care. It doesn’t always work — I was removed from a position when, after they informed me of how traumatizing the work can be, I asked what mental health support systems they had available to help employees manage this. The cruelty of that continues to amaze me, but experience has taught me that those types of work situations are better avoided.

Centering my well-being and care in my life is a life-long endeavor. When one lives in a society that prioritizes your productivity more than your humanity, you will consistently find yourself forced to choose. While I do not choose to prioritize my humanity 100% of the time, it does get easier to remember to do in more facets of my life. And to think, all this happened because my hairstylist respected me enough to develop a pain-free approach to doing my hair and changed “tenderheaded” from a feeling of shame into an act of caring.