When the world is blowing up, you have two choices: Blow up with it or find shelter. For me, shelter became hours of digesting Instagram infographics, mostly from Black women writing about racial gaslighting, anti-Blackness and, most gloriously, radical self-love. While I was reposting, championing and connecting with these women from around the globe, a voice inside of me kept saying “Radical means doing something that scares you.” So, I took a pair of scissors and began. Ten minutes in, not knowing what I was doing, I asked my little sister to finish the job. An hour later, horrified and crying over the keyboard after seeing my scalp for the first time in my life, I ordered my first wig.
It’s not that I regretted shaving my head; it’s that…
