🌀 Rooted: My First Year with Dreadlocks

One year in—woven with intention, rooted in reverence. These locs carry my stories, my stillness, and the sacred spiral of becoming.

It’s been just over a year since I began my dreadlock journey—a path I chose with intention, not just for how it would look, but for what it would teach me.

Unlike free-form locs, mine were created using the backcombing and crochet method—an active choice to work with the hair rather than let it wander entirely on its own. But even with structure, there’s surrender. Even with shaping, there’s mystery. And every day, this process continues to humble me.

Dreadlocks take time. And in that time, you’re invited—sometimes forced—to soften. To wait. To reframe beauty through a new lens.

They don’t form seamlessly overnight. They move at the pace of nature.

They frizz. They flatten. They shift.

They puff in humidity and tighten in dryness.

They loop in odd places and sleep in wild directions.

They require patience in a world that glorifies instant results, and they ask you to show up every day without knowing what they'll look like tomorrow.

And somehow, in that mess of tangled rebellion, they become you.

This past year has been a living ritual of embracing imperfection.

Of standing in front of the mirror and seeing the truth—without smoothing it down or glossing it over. My locs have become a symbol of what it means to root into something deeper than appearance: to choose presence over polish, wildness over performativity, soul over surface.

They have become living symbols of my own integration. For years I’ve been weaving together parts of myself that once felt too scattered to name: mother and mystic, light chaser and shadow worker, healer and wounded, daughter and sovereign woman. And now, these locks have become a mirror for that integration—proof that time, intention, and presence are enough.

While dreadlocks are often most closely associated with Black culture in today’s world, their roots stretch across many lands and lineages. Locked hair has appeared throughout history on Celtic warriors, Norse mystics, Hindu holy men, and spiritual seekers from countless traditions.

For me, this journey has felt like a return—an ancestral remembering of something my own blood once knew. I didn’t choose locs to make a statement. I chose them because they called to something deep within me.

Wearing locs isn’t about claiming a culture—it’s about listening for the threads that connect us to something older, wilder, and more truthful than modern beauty standards.

And I’ve been met with such kindness along the way—from people of many backgrounds, including Black women whose compliments felt like quiet blessings. That kind of affirmation tells me what I already feel to be true: when your path is rooted in respect, people can sense it.

Something about being in this process has sharpened my inner knowing as well.

It’s like tuning into a deeper frequency—one I’ve always had but now hear more clearly.

Something about having this crown—these strands of story—makes me more attuned to truth, more willing to stand rooted in my own intuition, more embodied.

It’s been a spiritual revolution. Locked hair is often misunderstood, even judged, as dirty or unkempt. But to wear it proudly is to say, “I will not shrink into someone else's comfort zone.” And yes—I still wash my hair. That’s one of the biggest misconceptions I hear about locs. In truth, locking my hair has made me more mindful of my scalp and crown. I use gentle, residue-free cleansers and take my time with the process. It’s not about avoiding care—it’s about redefining it.

And in that way, this journey has become part of my healing. It’s reminded me that beauty is not about containment—it’s about embodiment. It’s about letting the wild things grow.

It’s a reclamation of identity that’s beyond performance.

A way to root—into the Earth and into myself.

So here I am, just over a year in.

Still locking. Still learning. Still loving this evolving relationship with my own reflection.

If you’re considering this path: know that it’s not about being perfect.

It’s about being present.

Even with a guided method, the journey is still sacred.

Even with shaping, the spirit is still wild.

Because in the end, there is magic in the maintenance.

There is medicine in the method.

And there is power in choosing to stay the course, even when it’s not easy.

Credit to Lilith's Locs for the initial creation and regular maintenance of my locs.