I have officially been wearing my natural hair for four years now. It was a tough journey for me, because I had always worn my hair straight or had relaxers and was used to a sleek look. At the time, straight hair was better, especially for people of color, because everyone got to see how long your hair actually was. Then you would get the typical response -- "You have nice hair for a black girl" -- as if people expected me to take that as a compliment.

I don' think people realize that growing up with a curly-kinky hair texture was hard. My mom used to force me to get relaxers because my hair was "too thick" -- like that's a bad thing. I always had to wear my hair straight and sleek thanks to a hot-comb that my mom refuses to get rid of. I never got to wear my hair in its natural state and I had beautiful curls. So why not show them off to the world? Well, because it wasn't acceptable; not only to my generation but to the one before me. My mom was not the biggest fan of my transition, because my hair looked "dry," "nappy" and apparently like a "bird's nest" -- but that didn't stop me.

For me, my hair was a representation of my life. During the 10th grade I went through the worst year of my life and hit an all-time low. It was apparent through my appearance and personality, but most of all through my hair. I had lost inches of my hair due to stress, and it was heart-breaking. So I made the decision to cut my hair off. It was hard. I didn't know if it would grow back if I became stressed out again. But to me, this was the new Amanda. It was a chance for me to start fresh again, even if I felt bald.

So I slayed my Rihanna cut for a while and my hair grew out and I became much happier with myself. The next year I decided to go natural. It was awkward for me because my hair was much shorter, and I have a big head -- you can do the math. Walking around school was my biggest concern because I always expected one person to walk past me and laugh. Some people did. Gradually, I stopped caring what people said and remembered how happy my friend Astrid was with her natural hair journey. Soon I aspired to be as happy as she was. And now here I am, loving my locks and enjoying my natural hair journey a whole 4 inches longer!

There's just one thing that doesn't make me so happy about my natural hair. It's when people decide it is OK to touch my hair, like I'm some type of animal. There's a certain level of respect that you should have for everyone, and I think petting someone's hair is not within that level. Now, it's one thing if you ask me what product I have in my hair and want to feel a difference between yours and mine -- but that is never the case.

It's always non-black or Latino people that pounce their hands on my fro, or pull my curls, or ask me if I did my hair that day, or ask me why I always wear my hair in a puff, or squeeze my hair or curls or tell me I should straighten my hair.

I would like to remind everyone that my hair is my hair -- not yours. So if it offends you in any way, or if you feel the need to pet my hair, please walk away. Ask first, or simply say, "I like your hair today." Just like it takes time and effort for people to do whatever they decide to do with their hair, it takes 10 times more for me to style my natural hair.

My hair is a constant reminder of my journey through this game called life. My hair has meaning to me, so when you decide to pet it, degrade it, or suggest that I wear my hair a certain way to please you, please dismiss yourself. My hair is my pride and glory. Don't disrespect it because, by doing so, you're disrespecting me as a person -- as a human. So yes, when people decide that it is OK to pet my head and smile at me, don' t be surprised when I death-glare you.