He was known for his clean-shaven head. A no-nonsense, bald look that gave him an edge—minimal, polished, confident. It was his signature for over a decade. To most people, it fit. But behind that bold exterior lived a quieter longing—one he rarely spoke about.
Deep down, Jamal Davis always dreamed of dreadlocks.
Not the kind worn for fashion or fleeting trends, but locks that told a story—his story. A symbol of identity, history, and self-expression. But growing up in a neighborhood where hair was either faded tight or shaved off clean, he never saw many examples of that dream. And as the years passed, he convinced himself it was easier to just keep the razor close and the doubts buried.
Then something changed.
It wasn’t dramatic. Just a quiet moment during lockdown, staring at his reflection longer than usual. The razor sat on the sink, waiting. But Jamal paused. What if, for once, he didn’t follow routine? What if he gave himself permission to grow?
So, he did.
The early days were rough—literally and emotionally. His hair came in patchy at first, soft in some spots, wiry in others. Friends teased him, some affectionately, others not. “You going through something, bro?” someone asked. He smiled and shrugged. The truth was—yes, he was going through something. Growth.
He started watching videos online, following dreadlock journeys, researching oils and scalp care routines. He reached out to a local loctician, a woman named Mya, who had been locking hair for over twenty years. She took one look at his uneven curls and said, “You’ve got something good here. You just need to give it time.”
Time became his best teacher.
There were frustrating months when his hair wouldn’t lay right, when he wore hats just to feel less self-conscious. There were nights he considered shaving it all off again, just for the comfort of certainty. But something in him held on. Something said, Keep going.
And then, slowly, something beautiful began to form.
The baby coils tightened. His scalp grew healthier. The awkward turned into intentional. And one day, after almost a year, Mya said, “You’re locked in now.”
He looked in the mirror, hands running down the short but defined dreadlocks that now framed his face. He didn’t just see hair—he saw himself. The him he’d once imagined but never believed he could become.
Now, two years in, Jamal’s locks reach just past his shoulders. They sway when he moves, speak when he’s silent, and remind him daily that growth—real growth—is never instant, but always worth the wait.
He often posts photos of his hair journey online, using the hashtag #ScalpToSoul. In the captions, he writes not just about hair, but about healing, patience, and reclaiming parts of yourself you once buried.
Because for Jamal, the journey wasn’t just about style.
It was about becoming who he always was, strand by strand.