No Rain, No Flowers: On Hair, Healing, and the Slow Work of Becoming

It’s been almost three weeks since that full, disorienting and yet deeply inspiring weekend — and I’ve been sick ever since. The kind of illness that fully forces you to stop, to sit still, to listen to what your body is trying to say. Maybe that’s why I’m only writing about it now... Because sometimes the lessons need to settle before they can be shared.

That last Friday of September began at Curlish, a space I’d admired from afar for years. I finally walked in, ready to embrace my natural hair. Thank you Tina, for reminding me gently over the past months to come by. So there I was. Ready, or so I thought...

For almost two decades, what I perceive of as my identity had been wrapped in long, sleek (or Burmese wavy) hair. Neat, polished, "professional". The kind of hair that seemed to quietly reassure the world that I belonged. I had mistaken assimilation for ease. Leaving Curlish that afternoon, curls soft around my face, I didn’t feel like myself. I felt exposed. Less powerful, less put-together, and that honestly frightened me.

There’s a quiet kind of shame that can accompany self-love when it doesn’t feel natural yet. I didn’t feel empowered. I felt like I had betrayed a version of myself that had worked so hard to survive. And yet, deep down, I fully know that this discomfort is part of the shedding.

The question is not Why don’t I love myself enough to love my natural curls? but What systems taught me that I shouldn’t?

That same evening, I attended an academic roundtable at the University of Zurich led by Professor López Labourdette — a gathering of scholars, community leaders (including our amazing AfroSwisster Lys Silva), and artists speaking about Afro-descendant legacies and activism in and around Switzerland. Listening to people share stories of underfunded initiatives, invisible labor, and the constant struggle to sustain community work, I saw myself in those narratives. The structure isn’t supported, one speaker said. We move anyway. I felt that deeply. That very tension between vision and exhaustion, between wanting to serve and needing to survive.

In that moment, the unease I’d felt at Curlish began to make sense. Whether we are building organizations, writing our stories, or reclaiming our natural selves, we are all negotiating belonging. There’s no manual for how to inhabit your own skin — or your own reflection — when so much of who you are has been mediated by other people’s comfort.

By Saturday, I was in Geneva for the fabulous ETK Leadership Brunch (Shoutout to Dr. Elllyy and her incredible team). The theme — Legacy of Queens — felt prophetic. A room full of women of color in motion: ambitious, powerfully grounded, thoroughly magnetic.

I watched us. In our laughter, in our listening, in our resilience. Amazed and inspired, and felt an unexpected tenderness rise. We were all negotiating the same contradictions: strength and softness, visibility and vulnerability, success and self-doubt. That day and the entire weekend surrounded by hard-working, ambitious African descendant women in Switzerland reminded me that self-acceptance isn’t a destination; it’s a practice, an ongoing conversation between who we’ve been and who we are becoming.

Now, weeks later, as I recover body and mind, I understand that being overwhelmed isn’t failure. It’s the body’s way of integrating growth. Healing, like hair, takes time to return to its natural pattern.

No rain, no flowers.

Sometimes, the rain looks like tears, or fever, or the ache of seeing yourself anew. But the flower — the quiet blooming into your own truth always follows.

This piece isn’t just about hair. It’s about the courage to meet yourself when you no longer recognize who you’ve become — and the grace to let that, too, be LOVE.

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On Curlish and the Ladies

Curlish isn’t just a salon — it’s a whole vibe. It's the kind of space that makes you exhale the moment you walk in. Everything about it feels intentional. From the shop selves and the energy, to the design and its people.

Shoutout to TINA AZIGBO and her TEAM.

Thank You Laren, Heidi, Diana and Tina <3

for creating something so needed, so overdue, and so full of heart. Tina and her co-founder Hanne Lore built more than a salon. They built a home for curls, coils, and confidence.

And Heidy and Laren… what a beautiful duo. Their patience and talent. They listen, they take their time, they treat your hair like it matters — because it does. The care, the precision, the warmth — it’s rare. Because each lock takes patience time and literally "Fingerspitzegfühl". What they’re doing at Curlish is bigger than merely beauty or commerce. It’s culture. It’s community. It’s women showing up for women. Including other humans of course. It’s artistry with purpose.

If you’ve been meaning to go — go.

You too may leave different.

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