As a kid I would hate having my hair brushed. Not only did neither of my parents not realize that my hair was curly and so they used a straight hair routine, but I’m autistic and also have FMS (undiagnosed at the time. Schizophrenia probably factors in there somewhere) so it was a painful sensory nightmare.
I remember when I got old enough to brush on my own, I stopped doing it altogether until it turned into this tangled mess. My mother would always end up doing it for me, but eventually she gave up on that because I would always scream, cry, and struggle (probably because of the autism and at the time undiagnosed fibromyalgia).
One time, it got so bad that she brought me to a salon. I think I remember her telling me something about how they were going to detangle it, and then I was going to have to start taking care of my hair or they’d chop it off or something (she said later this was a joke). I remember having a panic attack because every experience I’d had with my hair so far had been incredibly painful, so of course I cried the entire time.
But the salon used lukewarm water and detangler to help with my hair, and I remember being confused because my mother always told me that brushing my hair wet would make it frizz. But salons know hair and I was sure the stylist knew what she was doing. And she did, because while the pulling was still kinda painful, it was the best experience with hair I’d ever had.
Kinda wish I’d connected the dots on all that sooner, though. My mom continued to drill into my head that I needed to brush my hair dry well into my teenage years and she continued to lecture me on how I wouldn’t be tenderheaded if I just brushed more and got used to it. I chopped it off like three years ago, and decided to try to get some curly hair stuff and try wet brushing on a whim because I figured it might at least “make my waves more defined” and that’s when I made that connection.
I still haven’t forgiven my mother. I think she should have taken my pain seriously.
