"stop being a mindless slave and quit your boring job and go do what you really want, using the money you obviously have, because I don’t understand class struggles or intersectionality"
it’s crazy to me how black women have such a close relationship with pain and hair. as little girls we sit between our mother’s knees, at first outright crying and screaming when we’re really young, and then as we get older, wincing and furrowing our brows and suffering silently to get our thick hair tamed and controlled. when we become adults, we sit in a beauticians chair, literally suffering the fumes, the itching, the blistering, burning, and eventual scabbing from relaxers. we let heavy handed women attack our edges with too-tight braids, now wincing as grown women as we literally feel our hair ripping from our scalps. we suffer the neck pain of an uncomfortable night of sleep trying not to crush those carefully placed bumper curls in our short cuts. we walk around with tender scalps all day from our adventures sleeping on bantu knots. we literally hurt ourselves, welcome the pain and discomfort, to be fixed. to feel comfortable out in the world, to be beautiful. we learn it as little girls and we carry it into our adult lives, and eventually pass the ritual of pain to our daughters.