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Most people say that your hair is your crown and glory, and they go to great lengths to ensure that their "glory" is not tarnished or rusty.

Black women are no different. I, for one, tried to hold fast to my glory with perms or relaxers that chemically straighten hair.

I received my first relaxer at age 9 or 10. Until then, my mother had my hair straightened with a hot comb. But my hot-natured sweats and Mother Nature's humidity deterred any plans to keep my hair soft, long and straight -- how "good hair" should be.

Every six weeks, I would sit in a hairstylist's chair and let the relaxer sear my scalp until that tingling sensation became an unbearable, Texas Pete burn. But it was worth it -- at the time.

I could run my fingers through bone-straight hair. I took pride in how my hair lay flat in school photos.

My hair changed after I left my native Kinston for the dorms at UNC-Chapel Hill. I didn't have a trusty hairstylist to take care of it or a car to carry me home when my roots became too "nappy." Soon, it began to break off under the stress of taking exams and finding new friends.

The summer before my junior year, my scalp had been burned for the last time. July 2007 marked the last time I received a relaxer. I wore my hair in braids until I made the "big chop" in March 2008.

Cutting my hair was life-altering. I did not recognize my hair in its natural state. The jet black locks sprang into coils directly from the root. My hair suddenly resembled a Brillo pad, and I didn't like it.

The first few months without shoulder-length, relaxed hair left me insecure about my looks. I became well acquainted with scarves and hoods. I sometimes skipped events and could not stand to see my facial features, which were more noticeable, in the mirror.

One rainy day on campus without an umbrella made me see the advantages of having natural hair. Other black girls grabbed the nearest plastic bag or newspaper to hold over their heads as they screeched, "My hair!"

At that moment, I laughed. Just a few months before, I was them, steadily trying to keep my hair straight and limp to fit another person's ideals of beauty.

It is so freeing to keep my hair in its natural state. I find my two-strand twists so beautiful. I am more confident in who I am -- nappy hair and all.

There is a sisterhood of women with natural locks. It's as if we make up a minority within a minority, so we must edify one another.

That support is essential when people stare at your kinks in the mall or a relative tells you to straighten your hair to look more desirable to potential employers or mates.

Some do not understand my choice. Some admire my choice but aren't brave enough to don the natural look. I say that I'm not brave enough to burn my scalp again.

But all ladies should be brave enough to rock any style of healthy hair that makes them look and feel their best. If you wear a weave, a track or a wig to achieve your idea of "good hair," so be it.

Good hair is in the scalp of the beholder. It's on your head, so you should be proud of it. I'm proud of mine.

Contact Dioni L. Wise at 373-7090 or dioni.wise@news-record.com