My love for beauty started long before I realized it was my purpose. When my older sister moved out, I had no choice but to learn how to do my own hair. My mom would laugh and say, “You’re going to school, not a fashion show,” but for me, it was never about showing off. I was the girl with a brush, edge control, and lip gloss in her bag—the one who always made sure her hair was perfect because it made her feel powerful. What began as curiosity turned into a calling. I started doing my friends’ hair, then friends of friends, until my family’s pool room became a full salon. I didn’t see it as business back then—I just loved helping people feel beautiful. My parents didn’t understand it at first. They wanted stability, not curling irons and bundles. I was told doing hair wouldn’t lead to a real career, but I believed in my gift. I invested my last $50—money I couldn’t afford to lose—into my first hair class. That single risk changed everything. I saved for months to travel to Florida to perfect my wig-making and installation techniques. I built a clientele from nothing, launched a line of custom hair accessories that sold out, and eventually, my mom saw the vision she once questioned. She became my biggest supporter. Seeing her proud meant everything. Then, in 2020, my world stopped. I lost my mom, and I did her hair for her final viewing. That moment shattered me. My hands, once my source of strength, felt empty. People grieve differently—some stop eating, some stop sleeping. I stopped doing hair. Without my mother, it felt like I’d lost the very thing that made me me. I wasn’t just grieving her—I was grieving my purpose. Soon after, I lost my uncle, my biggest encourager, who always told me I’d make it. Before he passed, I promised him I would finish hair school. I’ve tried again and again, but life kept throwing challenges my way. I opened a salon suite and built a brand I loved, but grief took over. I lost focus, lost my space, and eventually had to step back to heal. Now, at 30, I finally feel ready and worthy. I work as a salon assistant, earning $10 an hour, and I couldn’t be prouder. Any other job, I wouldn’t accept that wage—but beauty feeds my soul. Every client I shampoo, every conversation I have, reminds me why I’m here. I’m rebuilding from the ground up, but this time, I’m doing it with faith and clarity. Creating custom medical wigs for women experiencing hair loss has reminded me why I started. Seeing a woman look at herself and smile again after losing her hair to cancer or alopecia is indescribable. My brand, So Slèk, is about luxury, compassion, and restoration—it’s not just hair, it’s healing. As a Brown woman in beauty, I know we are the blueprint. We create the looks, set the trends, and define what beauty means. Yet, our own community doesn’t always value stylists the way others do. I want to change that—to open a school that teaches advanced extensions and medical wig artistry, giving stylists the tools to build careers with pride and purpose. I know hardships will always come—they’re a part of life. But now, I also know what it’s like not to push toward my full potential. This time, I want to see what happens when I give everything I have. I’ve survived grief. Now, I’m ready to grow through it—and become everything I was meant to be.