Lessons About love I learned from my hair

By Alani ALELI

Photographed by Emilie Dumas

Lesson #1: Start At The Split Ends, Work Your Way Up

It’s five days after our breakup. My cheeks and eyes are bleeding colors, matching pinks,  indistinguishable from the other. I pull my hair back to keep the tears away from it, and since my bedroom has become suffocatingly hot. In these last few days, we fought every night, each argument ending with his pleas for reconciliation. I feel as if my bed will remember my shape better than he ever will, and I realize that my hair has lost its shape as well.

I finally get up to shower and try not to scream as I pull an orange scrunchie (definitely not made for curly hair) out of my knotted locks. I dip my head under the water and think about staying there. When I lift my brush, I hear my mom’s voice telling me to “brush from the bottom, then work your way up.” A task that used to feel so simple. I know I won’t feel better until I’ve done so, but staring at my split ends now, it feels impossible. I know it’ll hurt, but the only way to get through this tangle, as my mom said, is to push through the pain. Start with the little things, and the bigger things will come easier.  

Lesson #2: Moisturize, Moisturize, Moisturize

After I’ve brushed out my hair, there are pools of fallen strands in my hand, on the shower walls, and below my feet. I realize my hair is dying. I make a trip to the mall and buy a whole array of new products: mousse, gel, clarifying shampoo, etc. I wander into Michaels, impulsively buy bundles of chunky yarn, and decide then and there to make a blanket. I picked up crocheting while we were dating, but had never made the time to commit to a project until then. Instead of pouring all my love and time into someone else, I poured it back into myself. I made new friends, took jobs that scared me before, and even dyed my hair for the first time. While the burning sensation on my scalp from the red dye might disagree, I brought moisture back into my life. I spent time with myself in a way I never had before. 

Lesson #3: A Cut Goes a Long Way

After my hair had been lathered in those products, I felt it weighing me down. The cliche that we “hold our memories in our hair” sometimes rings truer in feeling than in theory. I had never thought to learn how to cut it myself until I held a fist of it, dead and full of rejection. After watching a singular TikTok video, the fallen strands on the floor were now intentional. I felt 10 times lighter and 10 steps closer to healing. The feeling of taking control of anything, even something as simple as my hair, was perhaps more powerful than anything else. I needed that reset. 

Lesson #4: Let Your Hair Breathe

I often fall victim to freshly washing and styling my hair only to put it in a ponytail. Hours of labor immediately thrown down the drain because it was “hot outside,” or the wind blew one too many strands in my face, or I was anxious and put it up without noticing. One time may not damage my curls, but after three weeks of repeated stress, that shape I fought so hard to bring back is lost again. Sometimes, the most important lesson in life and love is to simply stop running back to things that hurt you, the things that never change. Let the new you breathe in a new space, free of the old. Change is annoying—it’s inconvenient, it’s difficult to get used to, but everyone deserves a healthy start. Let your hair fall naturally. 

Lesson #5 You Are Never At Your Best Curl

You will look at pictures of  yourself at 12 and think, “Who the fuck let her out the house like that?” You’ll look at a picture of yourself a year from now and wonder how you hadn’t figured this thing out. You’ll learn that your hair is low porosity, or that finger coiling actually doesn’t work for you. There will always be a part of your routine you haven't perfected, and that’s okay. You’ll start to fall in love again, and you’ll be upset that you’re not the version of yourself that you were two years ago. You’ll think, “God, I wish they had met me then,” as if you are any less deserving or capable of love now than you were at 18. And that new person you’re dating? They don’t know your good hair days from your bad, only that they like you. There’s a beauty in knowing even that doesn’t matter as much anymore because, for the first time in a long time, your split ends are cut, your frizz is tamed, your hair has a bounce, and your smile has a glow from learning how to love yourself—the way you always deserved.