Tangled

I used to think detangling my hair was just a routine.

Something I had to do on wash days. Section, spray, comb, repeat. Simple.

But somewhere along the way, it became something else.

It always starts the same. I sit down, hair damp, divided into sections, and I take the first knot between my fingers. I try to be gentle, but it resists. It tightens, almost like it’s holding on to something.

And without even realizing it, I start thinking about everything I’ve been holding onto too.

The things I said I was over.
The conversations I replay in my head.
The moments I wish had gone differently.

I pull a little too hard.

The comb gets stuck.

I sigh.

“Why is this so difficult?”

But the truth is, I’m not just talking about my hair.

I move slower after that. I go back in with my fingers, carefully separating each strand. It takes longer this way, but it hurts less. I start to understand that forcing it only makes things worse.

Some knots don’t come out right away. You have to be patient. Add more water. More conditioner. Give it time.

I pause and realize… healing works the same way.

You can’t rush it. You can’t rip through it just because you’re tired of dealing with it. If you do, you only cause more damage.

So I keep going.

Section by section.

Knot by knot.

Memory by memory.

There are moments when I want to give up—when it feels like too much, when my arms get tired, when the frustration builds. But then a section finally smooths out under my fingers, soft and free, and I feel this small sense of relief.

Like something inside me loosened too.

By the time I’m done, my hair isn’t perfect. There are still parts that need more care, more time.

But it’s better.

And so am I.

I look at the strands I shed along the way, caught in the comb, left behind on my hands. At first, I used to see that as loss. Now, I see it differently.

Not everything is meant to stay attached to you.

Some things have to be released so you can move forward lighter.

I gather my hair, twist it gently, and sit there for a moment longer than usual.

Detangling is no longer just a routine to me.

It’s a conversation.

Between me and my hair.
Between me and myself.

And with every knot I undo, I learn a little more about how to let go.