Chances are, anyone with curly hair knows one thing: they have no clue what their hair is doing. Attempts to control it are basically futile; most of us just wash our hair and hope for the best, sometimes trying to manage the curls with product. Growing up, I hated my curly hair and the frustrations it brought.

I am eight years old. My curly hair is tangled in knots again and my attempts to untangle it results in anger, frustration, and a broken hair brush.

I am eleven years old. I am at my friend’s house and she has just straightened my hair. For the first time ever, I am looking at myself with straight hair. She implies I look much better with straight hair. Inside, I am torn between feel hurt and agreeing.

I am fifteen years old and I’ve given up trying to navigate a life in which curly hair is manageable, rather than a pain in the ass. I wear my hair in a bun or a ponytail and avoid thinking about it.

I am seventeen years old and I am straightening my hair to take my senior portraits. I’m convinced it’s the only way to make sure my hair looks decent in pictures I’ll see constantly all year. I straighten it and receive many more compliments than I would on an ordinary day.

Seven months later I decide that I don’t want to straighten my hair for my senior prom. I decide I want to feel as much like myself as I can on a night dedicated to pomp and beauty and extravagance. I still don’t love my curls, but I try to embrace them.

For college, I move far away and live somewhere with much lower humidity. My curls become more manageable, the frizz and tangles and unruliness relent slightly, and the straightener I brought to college sits unused, save for two occasions. Instead, I continue to wash my hair and hope for the best. The only difference is that when I look in the mirror at my unpredictable or uneven curls, I smile. I appreciate that my hair has a life of it’s own. I remind myself that it’s not worth crying or stressing over my hair as it does what it wants. I admire the way the light reflects on the lighter hairs, and the way it twists over itself. I remember that I don’t feel like myself when my hair is straight and that my curly hair is a part of me.