NdukuOutLoud

On Hair, Identity, and Carrying Wisdom Forward.

I cut my dreadlocks three months ago.
I had worn them for almost four years. And yet, when I let them go, it wasn’t dramatic. No tears, no heartbreak, no ceremony. Just a morning decision-quiet, simple, final. Much like the day I first got them.

Of course, there were months before that when I felt the shift coming. A sense that dreadlocks were no longer my thing, that I was done with that phase, or maybe that everything I was going through at the time made me want to get it over with. But when the moment came, it was plain. I decided, and I did. That’s how I am with most things in my life-once the decision lands, I move. Mostly.

And yet, people noticed. They complimented me. They said I looked good with my “old” hairstyles. Some went straight to the point: you’ve gone back to your old self. I laughed, I agreed. But later, the questions lingered.

Have I Gone Back?

Honestly, I do feel a little like my old self. But I’m not sure I like it.

When I first put on dreadlocks, I don’t remember the exact date or the exact emotional state, but I know it marked something. A new chapter. A shift. They say women mark every major change in their lives with a hairstyle, often a haircut. Maybe that was true for me then.

And now, cutting them off has me wondering: am I returning to who I was before? And if so, why does that feel unsettling?

The Paradox of Change

Most of the time, when we change, we imagine ourselves becoming someone better. Someone who gets things done. Someone living the life we’ve always wanted. And often, that means reinventing ourselves completely-because who we are now and who we want to be don’t always live on the same frequency.

But sometimes, change is not about becoming someone else. It’s about going back. Back to who we were before the pain, before the disappointment, before the pressure to conform. Back to the sweet, positive beings we were before life demanded we harden.

And even when that return is beautiful, it can feel off. Because it means losing pieces of ourselves that once served us. Versions of us that carried us through. Even if they don’t fit the bigger picture now, they worked then. They mattered. And you can’t just shrug them off like a jacket you no longer like.

What I’ve Carried Forward

So maybe the question isn’t whether I’ve gone back.
Maybe the question is: what have I carried forward?

Four years of dreadlocks taught me patience-the quiet discipline of waiting for something to grow.
They taught me resilience-the ability to hold onto a choice even when it felt heavy.
And they reminded me that identity is fluid, not fixed. That I can shift without losing myself.

Cornrows may look like my “old self,” but they are worn by someone new. Someone who has lived through dreadlocks, through chapters of becoming, through the quiet courage of letting go.

Finding Our Way Back

Change is not always linear. It is not always forward. Sometimes it spirals, circles, returns. And in that return, we integrate. We wear our “old selves” with new wisdom.

It may feel uncomfortable. It may feel like loss. But it is also renewal.
And in that renewal, we find our way back-not to who we were, but to who we are becoming.

Carrying Myself Forward

Maybe cutting my dreadlocks wasn’t about going back at all. Maybe it was about carrying forward-patience, resilience, and the reminder that identity is never fixed.

That’s the rhythm of becoming: sometimes we move forward, sometimes we circle back, but always we gather pieces of ourselves along the way.