This morning, I caught myself in the bathroom mirror, brushing my teeth with my hair sticking up in every direction. I looked a little wild, a little unbothered, and honestly, I liked it. There was a time when I would’ve rushed to smooth everything down, just in case. Now, I let it be. It’s a quiet thing, but it feels like a small kind of freedom.
Being Black and queer means a lot of things, most of them complicated, but today it just meant I could stand there in my own skin and not flinch. I remember how much I used to edit myself before leaving the house, making sure I didn’t look “too much” of anything. Too soft, too loud, too different. There’s a particular energy to being seen as a Black queer person — sometimes it feels like everyone’s got opinions about your softness, your wildness, your everything.
Lately, I’ve been noticing how gentle I can actually be with myself. It’s not dramatic. It’s not even something I talk about much. I just let myself like what I like, wear what I want, and laugh at my own little jokes, even if nobody else hears them. I let myself rest. That feels big, but also ordinary, which is its own kind of gift.
There’s a sort of hush in my chest when I realize I’m not trying to impress or defend or prove anything. I’m just here, a little sleepy, a little messy, and still whole. I think that’s what growing into my own gentle wild actually looks like — not a transformation, just a slow, quiet shift.
I don’t have a big conclusion. I just feel soft today, in my own way. I hope I remember this feeling tomorrow, even if my hair decides to do its own thing again.