But what I didn’t know then was that the damage ran deeper than what I could see in the mirror. Years after I’d stopped relaxing my hair, I had to have surgery to remove fibroids so large, one was the size of a newborn baby’s head. Those fibroids complicated my first pregnancy and put me at greater risk for miscarriage, preterm birth; placenta previa or abruption; cesarean section, even bleeding out during delivery.

Health risks are often left out of the conversation about hair products. Black women are already two to three times more likely to develop fibroids than white women, and we’re more likely to experience severe complications. Now a growing body of research links common hair products used by Black women, including relaxers, chemical straighteners and scented oils, to fibroids, uterine cancer and breast cancer — conditions that disproportionately impact Black women. Additional research also points to hormone-disrupting chemicals found in these products, raising concerns about long-term impacts on fertility, reproductive health and other healthcare disparities.

We’re shifting now. More Black women are moving away from products containing harmful chemicals and choosing protective styles — not just for aesthetics, but for the health and longevity of our hair and bodies. But even in that empowerment, we still face pushback. Whether it’s school administrators policing little Black girls’ braids, or employers side-eyeing locs during interviews, the message is the same: our natural selves aren’t welcome.

Let’s call that what it is — discrimination.

And it’s not just about hair. It’s about the ways our society still codifies whiteness as the standard. A “polished” look often means “straight hair,” and “professionalism” too often translates to anti-Blackness in disguise. That’s why HB 387 matters. The bill had its first reading on March 4 and is now languishing in the Education Administration’s Subcommittee, a reminder of how slowly justice can move — even when the need is urgent. That’s why the CROWN Act matters. And that’s why we have to keep fighting for it — not just in schools, but in boardrooms, courtrooms, and every room we walk into.

Some will say this isn’t a big deal. That it’s “just hair.” But anyone saying that isn’t paying attention. Black women are already over-policed, under-protected, and often ignored when we speak up. We’re constantly told we have to be twice as good to get half as far. And when we finally reclaim our power — even through something as personal as how we wear our hair — it becomes a battleground.

So, no, this isn’t just about hair.

This is about showing up to work or class without shrinking ourselves. It’s about little Black girls not being sent home because their hair is braided with beads, or a Black teen who has surpassed his graduation requirements being forced to cut off his locs or miss high school graduation. It’s about protecting our health, honoring our heritage and saying "No more" to a system that tells us we’re unworthy unless we erase who we are.

HB 387 gives us a chance to do better for the next generation. It’s time we pass it — and then keep going. Because Black hair is beautiful. Black hair is worthy. Black hair is powerful. And Black people deserve to be protected — in every space we occupy.

That’s a fight worth having.

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Keisha Mulfort is the senior communications strategist at the ACLU of Florida.