My daughter asked me a question last week that I wasn’t ready for.
We were sitting at the kitchen table. She was doing homework. I was detangling her hair, working through each section slowly, carefully, the way my mama taught me.
And out of nowhere, she said: “Mama, when I get older, are you gonna teach me how to do this?”
I paused. My hands still in her hair. And I realized: she wasn’t just asking about braiding. She was asking about legacy.
She was asking: Will you teach me how to care for myself?
Will you show me that I’m worth the time, the patience, the ritual?
Will you pass down what your mother passed to you?
And in that moment, I understood something I’d never put into words before:
Beauty isn’t just about looking good. It’s about what we pass down.
The Beauty Ritual My Mother Taught Me
I grew up watching my mother do hair, not in a salon, not for money, just in the quiet corners of our home, whenever I needed it.
She would sit behind me or beside me, tools laid out on the table, moving with this calm confidence that made the whole room softer.
She detangled. She oiled to my scalp. She would part and then twist or braid with a patience I didn’t appreciate until I got older.
She wasn’t just doing hair. She was holding space.
Your crown is sacred. Caring for it is an act of love – not vanity.
The Day I Almost Forgot
There was a period in my life where I forgot this lesson.
I was moving fast. Building a career. Trying to “fit in” in spaces that weren’t built for me. And somewhere along the way, I started treating my crown like an inconvenience.
I would rush through my hair routine. I’d throw on whatever was quickest. I’d avoid protective styles because I thought they were “too much” or “too bold” or “too Black” for the rooms I was stepping into.
I stopped seeing my crown as sacred. I started seeing it as something to manage.
And here’s the thing: when you stop honoring your crown, you stop honoring yourself.
I didn’t realize how much I’d lost until I looked at my daughter one day and saw her watching me — watching the way I rushed through my own hair, watching the way I sighed when I looked in the mirror, watching the way I apologized for taking up space.
And I thought: Is this what I want to teach her?
What I Want My Daughter to Know
So I’m teaching her something different now.
I’m teaching her that her crown is not something to shrink. It’s not something to apologize for. It’s not something to rush through because the world is moving too fast.
Here is what I want her to know:
1. Your Crown Is Your Heritage
The way we braid, twist, loc, and wrap our hair is not just style – it’s history. Across the African diaspora, braids and patterns have carried meaning, identity, and even messages for generations.
When you care for your crown, you’re honoring the women who came before you. The ones who didn’t always have the freedom to wear their hair the way we can now, and who still fought to show up as themselves.
When my daughter sits between my knees and I part her hair gently, I’m not just “doing hair.” I’m passing down a language.
2. Taking Time for Your Crown Is Self-Respect
The world will tell you that caring about your appearance is shallow. That “real” women don’t worry about their hair.
But that narrative was never written for us.
The way you care for your crown reflects how you see yourself. If you believe you’re worth the time, you’ll take it. If you believe you deserve care, you’ll give it to yourself. If you believe your presence matters, you’ll show up fully.
Caring for your crown isn’t about impressing other people. It’s about respecting yourself.
3. Protective Styles Are Protection, Not Performance
I used to think protective styles were just about “looking done.” Now I know they’re called protective for a reason.
They protect your time. (Less daily maintenance means more energy for what matters.)
They protect your identity. (You get to show up as fully you.)
They protect your peace. (No constant anxiety about how your hair is “behaving.”)
When your crown is cared for – whether that’s a silk press, twists, braids, a wig, or a wrap – you walk differently. You breathe easier. You take up space without shrinking.
That’s the protection I want my daughter to carry. And if you need support with this, you can explore sensory crown care sessions here.
4. You Don’t Have to Do It All Alone
My mother didn’t do it alone. She had her friends, my sister, her people. They cared for each other. They held space for one another.
That’s what I want my daughter to know:
Asking for help isn’t weakness. It’s wisdom.
You can go to your stylist. You can lean on your community. You can invest in your crown, not because you can’t do it yourself, but because you deserve support.
The Conversation I Had With Her
So last week, when my daughter asked if I would teach her how to do her own hair, here’s what I said:
“Yes. I’ll teach you everything I know. But I’m also going to teach you something else.”
She looked up at me, curious.
“I’m going to teach you that your crown is worth protecting. That taking time to care for it isn’t selfish – it’s sacred. That the way you show up in the world matters. And that every time you honor your crown, you’re honoring every woman who came before you.”
She smiled. And then she said something that made me tear up:
“Like Nanny?”
“Yeah, baby. Like Nanny”
The Legacy We Don’t Talk About Enough
We talk a lot about the legacies we want to leave behind – the businesses we build, the money we save, the opportunities we create.
But we don’t talk enough about this legacy:
The legacy of teaching our children that they are worth the care. That their presence matters. That they don’t have to shrink their crown to fit into spaces that weren’t designed for them.
That’s the legacy I’m building.
And it starts with my crown.
When my daughter sees me taking time to care for my protective styles – not rushing, not apologizing, not shrinking – she learns something powerful:
She learns that she’s worth the time too.
What Are You Passing Down?
So here’s my question for you:
What are you teaching the people who are watching you?
Are you teaching them that self-care is selfish – or sacred?
Are you teaching them to rush through the rituals that matter – or to honor them?
Are you teaching them to shrink their crown to make others comfortable – or to wear it boldly, beautifully, unapologetically?
Your crown is your legacy. Not just what it looks like, but how you care for it.
Beauty in the Burial
There’s a phrase I keep coming back to: Beauty in the Burial.
It’s the idea that even in the hardest seasons – the seasons where we feel buried by grief, by stress, by the weight of the world – there’s still beauty worth protecting.
And for me, that beauty lives in my crown.
Because no matter how hard things get, my crown reminds me:
I am still here. I am still worthy. I am still me.
That’s the legacy I want to pass down. Not perfection. Not performance. Just the quiet, sacred act of showing up fully – crown and all.
What’s Your Crown Legacy?
If you’re reading this and thinking about the legacy you want to leave behind, I want you to ask yourself:
What do I want the people I love to remember about how I cared for myself?
Not how much you worked. Not how much you sacrificed. But how you honored yourself.
Because here’s the truth: the way you care for your crown is the way you care for your soul.
The people watching you: your children, your community, your younger self inside – are learning from every choice you make.
So make the choice to honor your crown. Make the choice to take the time. Make the choice to show up fully.
That’s the legacy worth passing down.
Let’s Honor Your Crown Together
If you’re ready to invest in your crown the way it deserves, I would love to help.
Beauty in the Burial is a concept I’m building into something bigger – a space where women can explore what it means to honor their crowns, their legacies, and their stories.
If you’re interested in being part of this journey, send me a message below
and let’s talk about what your crown needs next.
Petal Pull Live is a 3-hour live event where we’ll pull back the curtain on beauty, ritual, and legacy. We’ll talk about protective styles. We’ll celebrate the crowns that make us who we are. We’ll create space for the conversations we don’t have often enough.
P.S. If you have been putting off caring for your crown because you’re “too busy” or “don’t have time,” let me offer you this: You don’t have time not to.
