Hair trauma and how it can affect your'e mental health.

In this post, I want to share my thoughts and feelings on hair trauma, its impact on mental health, and the unique ways women of colour experience it. For so long european hair has been upheld as the standard of beauty, leaving many of us feeling the weight of comparison and exclusion. Writing from my perspective as a bi-racial woman and therapist, I’ll share both my own reflections and a personal story from my sister, who has generously allowed me to tell her experience of hair trauma.

Healing from Hair Trauma: My Journey, Our Stories

My hope is that this post feels like a safe and honest space for reading and reflection. Please feel free to share your thoughts in the comments after reading. And if any part of this brings up difficult feelings or reminds you of your own experiences, know that you don’t have to carry that alone. In my work as a therapist, I hold space for people navigating these kinds of challenges, and if you feel it might be helpful, you’re always welcome to reach out for a gentle conversation about what support could look like.

Growing Up with “Too Much Hair”

Growing up in the 70s as a mixed-race girl, born to a white mother and a Jamaican father, my hair often felt less like a crown and more like a problem to be solved. Thick, heavy, and hard to manage, it became a constant source of frustration.

Wash days were dreaded in our house. My mum didn’t know how to care for my hair — or my sister’s — so what should have been a nurturing ritual turned into a whole-day ordeal. Wash, dry, comb, tie it back. The process was painful, and her comments often made me feel as though my hair was “too much.”

And yet, there were moments of love woven in. My father, when he wasn’t working shifts, would plait our hair with patience and care. My auntie, during school holidays, would transform us with braids and beads that clicked together as I walked — moments that made me feel beautiful, seen, and celebrated.

Still, my mother’s frustration left a deep imprint. I grew up wishing my hair were different — softer, straighter, more “European.” Swimming lessons filled me with dread, as I wished my hair behaved like my white peers’ instead of becoming an unmanageable afro.

Chemicals and Conformity

Eventually, my mum’s exhaustion with our hair routine led her to a local salon that specialised in Afro-Caribbean hair. The solution? A curly perm. The process stung, the smell was awful — but the results? I was delighted. My hair looked longer, softer, and had that “wet look” made popular by Michael Jackson at the time. For me and my sister, this was the start of a chemical journey.

As I grew older, perms gave way to relaxers. Straight hair was the style of the time, and it promised “manageability.” But the process was brutal — scalp burns, damaged skin, and eventually seborrheic dermatitis, an inflammatory condition that affected my scalp and face. Still, I continued. Straight hair wasn’t just a style; it felt like a necessity, a way to fit into society’s narrow definition of what was “tidy” and “proper.”

For decades, I believed I’d never embrace my natural curls.

Returning to Myself

It wasn’t until my late 40s, during the pandemic, that things began to shift. With salons closed, I had no choice but to experiment with my own hair. My younger sister had already begun embracing her natural curls, and inspired by her, I started watching YouTube tutorials.

Slowly, I realised I had curls of my own — curls I could actually love. Compliments from others boosted my confidence, but more importantly, I started to feel proud of my natural hair. For the first time, I wasn’t hiding behind chemicals. Instead, I was embracing my full identity.

P's Story

Ugly, disgusting gross horrible just looks disgusting, I hate my hair, it looks like

a Brillo pad These are just some of the words that I would use every single day to

describe my natural curly hair. When did it all start? I cant tell you exactly but I think

that a lot of it has to do with growing up as a child being mixed race and having a

white mother who sadly never knew anything about Afro Caribbean hair and so she

never knew how to deal with my hair.

Im not sure roughly how old I was when it happened, but I distinctively remember my

mum trying desperately to do my hair forcefully putting the brush through my hair

which was a big thick Afro puff I would say 3c/4a hair roughly.  I must have been no

more than 7 or 8 years old. I remember my feet swinging as I sat in the chair waiting

for my hair to be done.

My mum couldn't do my hair, and she was obviously really frustrated that day more

than usual with having to try and do my hair I just remember sitting on the chair and

not being happy. I know my hair was beautiful well because it must have been.

Ive seen one or two old pictures of how my hair looked and I know that I had lots of

thick bouncy hair a bit like Diana Ross I guess but maybe thicker lots of hair, candy

floss hair. I just remember my mum going for the scissors and then she just started

to cut and cut my hair until it got to a point where my hair was so short it was as

short as my little brothers. I looked down and saw all my hair on the floor, my hair

was so short. I cried and cried then I remember my mum was about to go and cut my

big sister’s hair with the scissors and my dad walked in the door and saved my sister.

I strongly believe that this incident that happened when I was younger has really

traumatised me and has been a big part of my relationship with my natural hair, and

my whole Hair trauma journey of self-acceptance and caused a deep love hate

relationship with my hair.

When I was a little older in secondary school my mum took me to get what is known

as a guri curl, and I really liked it because it looked more European. Not long after

this I discovered other chemicals such as relaxers. All I know is that when I looked at

my natural hair I could not identify with that natural unruly hair being mine. My hair

was different, I did not have straight hair like my mum but also, I did not have hair

like my dad’s, I was mixed, I was different.

Throughout the 80s and 90s era particularly the 90s my hair was always straight.

My idols and role models were Aliyah, Missy Elliott Salt & Pepper, Vanessa Williams,

Brandy maybe not Brandy because she always had her hair in braids, but Monica,

well you know all these other Musicians they had one thing in common their hair was

straight and that just how I knew and wanted my hair to be. So, every opportunity I

would put relaxer in my hair, straighten it use styling tongs, burning it colouring it

heat, heat, heat and more heat, but I never wanted it curly I didn't wanna deal with

my own curl pattern and any time that I felt any little bit of regrowth come through on

my head it just didnt feel right. It felt like theres no way that I would manage this

unruly head of Hair.

I know that this has not just triggered me with my natural hair its also affected the

way that I style my hair so even keeping my hair straight I never want to ever get it

cut too short because of the memories of my hair being so short so up until now I

always kept my hair to a level which I felt was a comfortable length where I can at

least put it back in one. 

I did however decide about Five years ago to embark on a natural hair journey.

I think there was a big push on going natural and embracing your curls and I had

come to realise that actually my hair really didnt even need a texturiser. It didnt

need a relaxer, and I found that I could again straighten without a chemical. Yea I

know it’s not quite keeping it curly but it was a start plus I knew that I could put heat

in it without putting a relaxer or a chemical in it, but even then the journey for me

over the last five years has been up and down with a keratin here and there with a

Botox straightener you name it anything that could get my hair straight Ive used it.

I loved straight hair. But up until now after all the damage from keratin and heat I

havent put anything in my hair. Its been almost a year, and I am really trying my

best to embrace my curly hair because I feel its quite important as part of

acceptance and identity. Also, Im not young anymore I have wasted so many years

hating my hair and I know that someone else, well probably many people would jump

moons to have the hair I have.

I know I still have a long way to go but with the help of a big sister that has embraced

her natural curly hair and lots of curly naturals on YouTube, and Instagram I will keep

trying on my journey of healing health and curly hair not just for me but also for my

daughter and son that look at me not just as a mother but as a role model.

Hair, Identity, and Society

Even today, hair continues to be politicised and policed. In her book Don’t Touch My Hair, author Emma Dabiri highlights how Black children in the UK have been punished, excluded, or discriminated against simply for wearing braids, dreadlocks, or afros. These styles are not just aesthetic choices; they are vital for the care and health of Black hair. Yet, in many schools and workplaces, they are still dismissed as “untidy” or “unacceptable.”

Although Dabiri wrote about this issue in The Guardian over five years ago, the same challenges resurface in 2025. The conversation about hair has never been just about style — it is about identity, belonging, and the right to exist authentically.

Many public figures have since called for change, including campaigns to update the Equality Act 2010. Mel B, from the iconic 90s group the Spice Girls, spoke out in The Guardian in September 2024 about the discrimination she faced early in her career. She was pressured to straighten her hair but refused, choosing instead to embrace her natural curls with the support of her bandmates. That decision helped cement her as an icon and a role model, particularly for young women of colour who saw themselves reflected in her.

There has been slow but meaningful progress. Initiatives like the UK Halo Code, launched in December 2020 by young Black activists, aim to protect against race-based hair discrimination in schools and workplaces. Alongside this, community-led efforts such as the Halo Collective and the growing influence of media platforms are reshaping public perception — educating people, challenging stereotypes, and empowering individuals to embrace their natural hair with pride.

There is still a long way to go, but step by step, society is beginning to celebrate natural curls, afros, braids, and locs — not as something to be “managed,” but as a source of pride, heritage, and identity.

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