I think everyone’s locs tell a story about them. Mine remind me that I’m still growing, still learning. Some of my locs are small, weak, and frail — mirroring the parts of me that haven’t fully strengthened yet. But each one is rooted, each one is strong, and they tell me that I am strong in character, willing to embrace change as my locs mature and shift for the better. Improvement comes with time. A journey isn’t truly over until you reach the end of the line.
Locs start off as babies, needing unconditional care. Love your hair the way you love yourself, the way you’d love another person. That desire to see them flourish is a passion you ignite from within. Don’t hide — shine. Embrace the journey you started. With time, you’ll learn more than you expected. Growth doesn’t happen instantly; you have to crawl before you can walk. Love is taught, and when taught correctly, it flourishes.
That first year comes, and you see the length, the progress, the quiet victories. It’s not a crime to celebrate — post the picture, share the video, shout it if you want. You earned it through care and consistency, knowing the road only gets tougher from here.
Then year two arrives. You notice breakage and start to wonder what’s wrong. Are you loving them too much, or not enough? You ask around, and they tell you it’s normal. “You’re only in year two — keep going.”
Doubt creeps in anyway, but you keep showing love, keep moving forward. Then you see one loc looking skinny, like it might not make it. But your loctician reassures you: “It’s fine. It’s stronger than it looks.” If you haven’t learned it yet, patience is a strength — one you gain through this journey.
People think locs don’t need much care, but I beg to differ for my beautiful hair. Be tender. Be kind. Moisturize enough, but not too much. Things happen, but growth doesn’t stop.
You learn your flaws. You learn your shortcomings. You learn that you’ve become patient. You learn that sometimes you need intervention. You learn your frailty. You learn your strength. You learn that if anyone comes between you and your locs, something is off. But through the expedition, you learn how to care for them, how to keep them strong.
Even when you feel weak in some areas, you learn that you have a support system to help you overcome.
Locs create a spiritual connection. They ground you. These roots that grow from your head can either make you or break you. Which will they do for you?
Six years into my journey, I’ve learned to trust the process — the patience, the slow growth, the quiet victories. There are more years ahead, more strength, courage, power, lessons, support, and more peace to gain.
Locs grow in silence. So should you.
