What I Learned from having Box Braids

For the last two months, I have been carrying around what felt like 20 pounds of extra hair on my head. Short story – I got box braids. And since the kink in my hair is one of my favourite things to write about, I had to let you in on a few secrets of the biracial box braided experience. Prepare to be wow'd. Just kidding. 

I had a really awesome childhood. I never had to worry about a place to sleep at night. I never had to worry about food being put on the table, or an absent parent. I never had to question whether or not I’d be taken care of, and I never worried about battling the world without best friends by my side because I grew up with three siblings. 

Some would say, growing up for me was pretty easy. But there were a few things that were difficult. A few things shaped me into the person I am today.

Growing up with biracial hair in a mostly white town was not easy.

I know what you’re thinking. Perhaps you are wondering why I complain about something so seemingly insignificant because “everyone is beautiful in their own way.” 

I believe this to be true. 

Perhaps you are wondering why I talk about this when halfro hair isn’t nearly as unruly and difficult to manage as some other girls my age. That could be true too.

 Maybe you’re one of those people who have always dreamed of curls and so I should probably stfu and count my blessings. But let me break it down for you more simply.

My mom is white and had never styled hair like this before. Mom if you're reading this, thank you for the four hour combing sessions on sunday nights. My dad is black. He just couldn’t give two shits about what my hair looked like as long as it was neat and combed. He still asks me frequently why I don't just shave it all off. It works for him. 

Ethnic hair products weren’t available at drug stores, or department stores, or anywhere in the town I grew up in. Could you imagine how incredibly annoying it would be to drive to Toronto, the nearest metropolis an hour and a half away just to buy gel that was thick enough to tame your heaps of curls. To all the people who made fun of me for using olive oil on my head as a child... GTFO. 

Finding a salon with a non white hair dresser... not a thing. Finding a hair dresser who could actually cut and style my hair? Not a thing. I read a cool article a while back about how a source of stress while moving for the black community in the US and Canada is finding a soulmate barber. Feel that. 

"Hun, do you mind if I straighten your hair before I cut it?" 

"WHOA where are you from to get hair like this" 

" Excuse me, five extra associate hair dressers, can you please help me blow-dry this girls hair? It is SO big."

"So your dad has afro hair... and your mom has nice hair?" 

*DUMBFOUNDED* Never gets old. 

Walking out of a salon feeling great as opposed to stressed sweaty and a total burden? NOT A THING.

Beach parties growing up – not a thing. Unless I sheepishly asked one of my friends moms to comb my hair out immediately after so that I would save myself from getting matts in my hair. That process would take an hour minimum, and 4+ hours to dry.

Wearing winter hats. Or baseball caps. Or anything kind of hat! Not a thing.

Finding people at recess, or on TV, or in the entertainment industry who had hair exactly like mine. Not really a thing. Unless it was the “before” shot of a woman who is about to get a makeover. She has frizzy curly hair and then someone straightens it and suddenly she’s the hottest girl at school. (Thank you Princess Diaries... for ruining EVERYTHING!!!!!!!)

The romantic pool scene where the dude pushes me into the pool and we frolic around, splashing in lust and then he runs his fingers through my hair effortlessly – LOL. NOT. A. THING. I'm peeing. 

Head lice was a thing though. Enter my doom. My poor mother.

Point blank – it wasn’t easy to grow up having biracial hair and feel confident and secure and beautiful rocking it in a town that didn’t support that. So very early on in my life – I found my solution. The thing that made me feel comfortable and confident, while still making me feel a bit different from the crowd. Braids.

I braided my hair so much when I was young – I might have some of the fastest braiding hands you’ve ever seen. I braided my hair almost every day in high school. 

My sister on the right, Me on the left feat. very fast braids. Age 15

And when I was in middle school – I did the hair makeover of my dreams. Box braids. A lady came to my house and weaved extensions into my braids that lasted for months at a time. No styling. No combing through mats. No crying over not being able to wear my hair down without it shooting over and outwards. Sleek. Sophisticated. Beautiful. Braided hair. Check.

I stopped braiding my hair around grade 11 when my mom bought a flat iron. And around that time I started to learn how to manage my halfro hair.  Now how to I put this delicately... the top of my head is the only area of my body that I think twice about on a daily basis. I think about my hair before I go out with my friends. I think about my hair before I go on vacation, or camping, or on an impromptu day at the beach. I think about my hair before I go on dates. So much so that when I’m not having a good hair day, I’d rather cancel than meet a nice potential. 

And as I’m learning more about myself, my culture, and social justice, I noticed myself caring a little bit less. I noticed myself being surrounded by groups of likeminded people who complimented how large and in charge it was. I noticed myself in schools talking about growing up mixed and feeling compelled to make sure young girls feel supported and beautiful with whatever hair they have.

And then, because my hair is so hard to manage sometimes and its so hot in the summer, I decided I wanted to get box braids again. For the first time in 10 years.

Let me be frank. My braids made me feel hot AF. I felt like a badass walking source of energy that could not be denied!

But not at first, and not all the time. I cried for three hours when I first got them done. Not only was it hard to hold up my neck. But looking at myself in the mirror once they were all done made me revert back to my childhood. Back to a girl that cried over her differences. My sister came into my room and had to help put my hair in the biggest scrunchie we could find. Talk about a flashback. I wasn't used to looking biracial. And I think its because for a large part of my existence I was made to feel that white features were more beautiful. Pro tip: telling me I'm beautiful in my own way doesn't help. Beauty constructions have hit girls of colour in the face for our entire lives. Overcoming it is not a simple as people might think. 

But once I spent a few days with my new do, I really started embracing how beautiful my braids were. So, now that my long winded introduction has come to an end – I’d like to share with you a few of the discoveries I have made since having box braids as a young woman.

1)    When I had braids, I learned once again that black women are warriors. Not only because they exist in a system that oppresses them in so many different ways, but also because some of them hold up to 5 pounds of added weight on their neck and shoulders every single day. As if they weren’t already carrying enough. Mad props my sistas. 

2)     When I had braids, people thought I was way cooler/more interesting than I actually am.

3) When I had braids, I learned that they  are so clutch when I wanted to work out. No fuss, no muss. I was ready to go in under 10 minutes every day. Perk!

4) When I had braids, I learned that the amount of people from my home town who don’t know the difference between braids and dreads is kind of bizarre to me. Haha I know people mean well, but maybe that just goes to show how little representation there is in our media/my specific community. #Braidsarentdreads

5)  When I had braids, I learned how annoying it is when strangers touch your hair. If you are a friend of mine reading this, if you touched my braided hair, rest assured I was not offended. I probably laughed and leaned my head closer to you. But I have never had so many random boys and girls at bars and on the street touch my head without asking than I have in the past few months. 
No big deal right?
 Well imagine walking down the street and some random dude beside you just ran his fingers through your hair. Wouldn't that be creepy? Wouldn't it feel weird to ask them to not touch something attached to your head (cause DUH) and then have them look surprised or offended because they were just trying to "give you a compliment."  Please don't make my existence more awkward than it already is. 

6) When I had braids I learned how complex and difficult it is to be a part of an oppressed community with visible light skinned privilege. And that in comparison to my friends who are minorities, I really don't have it that bad. I don't know how to effectively communicate this. 

I discovered (based on verbal confirmation) that some people thought my braids looked cool because my skin is light. It was an interesting contrast.  
At the same that I had box braids, a few of my girlfriends who are black had them as well. And while I got irritating compliments about my exotic attraction, I fear the following: 
Without projecting my own fears/thoughts onto other people, I feared that my black sisters were once again made to feel that the features that have existed on them naturally throughout history, appear more beautiful or desirable when presented on a light body. I would like to be excluded from that narrative, as I identify with the blackness within me.

 But my light skin is obvious. Being so fair while being biracial cannot possibly go unnoticed. It is no wonder that so many random people asked me while I had braids if I "just got back from vacation." (The fucking worst comment). 

7) When I had braids, I learned how crucial it was to celebrate myself. I started off the night crying, reverting back to the 5 year old I used to be. Or the 14 year old I used to be, when blonde girls in my class would tell me I should try straightening my hair, "like THEIRSSSS." I got nervous when I would chat with people on dating apps, wondering if I would be ostracized from their interest pool simply because of my braids and tanned skin. I have never felt more ashamed admitting that to all of you. But feeling like I might not be someones "type" based on my appearance is something that I have thought about in great detail. In looking for pictures for this blog, I scrolled through hundreds of pictures that I had taken in high school. And I couldn't find a single one with me rocking my natural hair. That is a sad truth. 

Finally, when I had braids I realized how beautiful I am. I realized how beautiful my heritage is. 
 I thought about what my grandmothers life was like. Rocking her braids, and her wigs and moving from Trinidad to Canada and trying to make sense of a new life. I thought about what it was like for my dad, walking through the streets of Toronto in the 70s with his group of friends, slaying with his afro and linen pants. I thought about my mom, trying desperately hard to tame three baby halfros and learning to kick beauty constructions in the face for the sake of her daughters. 
I thought about the women of colour before me and how much they have witnessed and experienced in their lives. 

And I thought about the generation of women of colour to come, and what it would happen for them if we rock our curls and braids and afros proudly in the present. 
Perhaps they can exist in a world where their beauty is recognized, honoured and celebrated. 

xo Meags 

Muscles With Meags 2.0

It has been a long time since I have sat down to write a blog. Even longer since I have decided to write a blog specifically about my health and fitness journey.  I think a part of the reason is, much like my health and fitness, my decision to share bits of myself online for the world has gone through a natural ebb and flow.

I’m sitting in a tiny town in Northern (ish) Ontario. This is not only a town that I feel privileged to call a small piece of home – it is also a town that I feel inspired to write and create in. It is a town that I grew up coming to. A place that feels peaceful in all of its beauty. Cotton candy sunsets. Waves that you hear from your bedroom window. That kind of beautiful, almost annoyingly romantic  town. It’s the town where me and my sisters and best friend created our very first online project together – a music/lifestyle YouTube channel called Lives of BW. Yes, at that time we were no more than 17. Boys were sparse and our confidence was even moreso. But we were fabulous. BW stood for bitter wenches.  Can’t knock that creativity.

This was also the place that I really started to commit to Muscles with Meags. I blogged, worked out, tried to make healthy decisions on vacation. And it was here about two years ago that I was in the best physical shape of my life and rocking some surface confidence like no other.

Back in that day!

Now I’m back, two years later with a new take on Muscles with Meags. I started my vacation feeling just fine. Right before my sister Emilie and I left, I found an old blackberry of mine from 2014-2015. I thought it would be fun to charge er up and take a look at some of the photos I took back then. So I threw it in the car and away we went. We arrived at our little abode for the week and I plugged the blackberry in. Who woulda thunk it? My old phone was riddled with pictures of sunsets, and progress photos of my tiny biceps and once flat stomach. My initial reaction was to feel sad. How could I have let myself go? This is a town that I really felt my fitness journey come alive, and here I was, back again, with no more baby biceps and a lot of derailed progress. The first few days of my vacation I reached for the phone – hoping that looking at my photos would spark some sort of inspiration. The same kind of inspiration that kickstarted my journey two years ago… but I haven’t found it yet. 

I did not intend for this post to be a sap fest about the body confidence I once had. It was actually meant to be the opposite. After I snapped myself out of this little low, I started thinking about why my progress could have derailed, and why I wasn’t working my health and fitness business as adamantly as I was back then. I came up with a few reasons.

1)   I started to feel uncomfortable with sharing progress pictures as a means of selling women on a healthy lifestyle. I don’t want to sugar coat it. Nearly every woman I helped over the last two years has been a result of people looking at my before/after photos. And that is how I was sold on the lifestyle too. Don’t get me wrong – a body that you are proud of is something to be celebrated. And I celebrate woman that do so! But is that type of sale sustainable for a girl like me? Well if it was, I don’t think I’d be in the space that I am now. I started to try and work “Muscles with Meags” without showing ANY physical pictures of my body altogether, and instead focusing on sustainable INNER results. More creativity. Better focus. A healthy mindset and attitude. But those things weren’t attracting people the way a body shot was. Why was that? I could give a long list of reasons why people, young and old, crave a toned body. But I think you already know those reasons. I don’t know if I could in good conscious, add to that. I still want to help women on their journeys, and I believe in every product I’ve ever shared. I would ideally still like to show my progress every once in a while, but  I crave a little innovation. 

2)   Sometimes, I think I said things that I didn’t mean. I re-read a few of my blog posts and what was meant to be honest and well –intentioned seemed arrogant and un-relatable. I was a fit #girlboss last year. I also lived with my parents. I spent hours stalking fit girls on instagram, thought frequently about my online image, was sometimes unhappy in my size 3 dress, had a face full of acne because of stress and hating my job, and chased around relationships that were controlling and emotionally draining/abusive. Not such a boss now, huh?

I remember a small turning point. I went into my office, and I was talking to a new work friend about how she was enjoying her pregnancy. And among other things, she said, “My doctor told me I have to gain some weight!  Which is strange because I’ve never been underweight.” And then placing her hands on her tummy and smiling she said, “my belly has always been plushy and wonderful!” THAT is a girl boss.

3)   Progress can derail when you reach a desired goal. I dropped my 12 pounds. I was a size small (and sometimes smaller). I was healthy and happy and killin it. And I wanted to stop thinking about how much further I could go because frankly, thinking I should tone up my stomach when an extra small dress from Forever 21 was too loose was NOT a thing. So I decided to take it down a notch. It started off well intentioned, and then turned into a bit of laziness. Indulging a bit too much. Not only did I reach my physical goals, but I reached some that were attached to career and purpose as well.  And when I reached those goals, I forgot that fitness doesn’t have a finish line.

4)   I was busy. As a health coach, I get it all the time, and I hate using it on myself. But I was busy. Thankfully I was busy with some pretty incredible things. When I started health coaching, I took a chance on Team Beachbody and helping women because I felt that it would bring me closer to my purpose. And I assure you – few people spent more time slinging five jobs, immersed in personal development and waking up at the crack of dawn to work out than me. I poured every ounce of commitment I had into bettering myself. Physically and mentally – so when the time came for my Leadership interviews – all I had to do was speak from my heart and the universe aligned with my priorities. With that came the start of a new career that took me on a tour and to two new apartments within 3 months – waking up at five and smashing a workout didn’t seem feasible. And even though I remained exercising 3 times a week, a muffin mid-day or beers after work with my stellar work crew seemed just as important. And I think for the time, it was!

With all of this written, I am chasing a desire to be an active health entrepreneur/enthusiast again. But this time, I invite you on this journey, and challenge us to keep a few things in mind.

The first, your fitness can’t be measured in a quantifiable goal. Why? Because you will more than likely reach it. And then what? You can set a new goal, but you will also likely spend a good chunk of time celebrating your accomplishments! Celebrating is an IMPORTANT part of progress, but not to the point where you derail your success. How can we find a way to keep the health industry alive and bumpin without advertising the quick 10lb weight loss, or the vanishing of cellulite within 30 days? I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure that out. Unfortunately, we’re up against a LOT of head honchos that are telling us what health success looks like. Fuck em.

The second, we, as a community need to try and stop associating fatness as something to be ashamed of or insulted by. This attitude makes exercising and eating well scary or elitist/not worth it. I spent a lot of my young adult life in the Caribbean. One night we were in line for dinner. I was standing with my pal JJ, and a bigger girl was serving us. When we got up to the front, JJ said “Hey fattie, can you put some extra on my plate?” And she did so with no objection. And then I reamed JJ out for being so incredibly rude to such a wonderful young woman. He was labbergasted. “So I shouldn’t call her fat?’ He looked confused. “Um, I don’t know what it’s like at home but in Jamaica being fat isn’t an insult.” He was 13. She embraced and loved her body.  I was embarrassed.

We  need to tunnel vision our successes. Don’t compare our bloopers to someone else’s highlight reel. Get off our infomercial/instagram/facebook binges and just focus on the workout in front of us. For all health and fitness positivity and motivation, I recommend checking out anything and everything created my Chalene Johnson.

We need to stop talking about how much weight we want to lose or how much we want to tone up. Unless our weight is an immediate health concern, maybe we should try asking  “how can I clear my mind for 45 minutes?” or “how can I be more creative?” or “how can I thank my awesome bod for keeping my awesome blood pumping and my awesome brain working?”… The last one is a little much, but you know what I mean.

We have to TRY to stop associating working out with negative feelings. This one might be tricky. I am sure that one of the reasons that I resisted exercise for so long is because I was teased as a child for not being athletic. I always felt self-conscious in gym class and being the best athlete was often praised in the form of good grades in gym or being popular. I personally think that gym class shouldn’t be quantifiable in a letter grade when you’re 12. I think I’d need to start an entirely separate blog on education ideas. I was often compared to the size of my sisters, when our habits were pretty much the same. That couldn’t have been good for any of us!

Bottom line – exercise in important. Feeding your body with GOOD food is important. But health looks different for everyone. It’s about time we remember that.

Back to basics

Homework Assignment: 

1) Write down three things that you really like about yourself. It can be anything.

2) Write down three things that you really like, about your physical appearance. Now go into the mirror and saw those things out loud.

3) Think of one reason to do a workout, no longer than 30 minutes. The reason can not be physical unless it enhances a certain skill or non-physical trait.  

Mine:

1) I am very patient with people and thus have friends from all walks of life. I am very passionate and enthusiastic about my/my friends ideas. I have a lovely singing voice.

2) I have a cool nose ring. I like how I can wear my hair in any style and get away with it. I have a nice smile.

3) Working out my arms makes it easier for me to play guitar for long gigs!

Your turn.

xo Meags

The Moment Before it Starts

"Circuits freeze and androids never dream... you're more than a machine."

Thank you, Scott Helman, for ending my year on such a thoughtful and pleasant note.

 If you haven't heard his EP, Augusta, you're missing out. I think his song Machine was the perfect soundtrack to my inner thoughts on the last few days of 2015. I interpret it as a commentary on beautiful humans being so much more than how we perceive ourselves. 
More than our online persona's, more than a swipe right. 

Our bodies are more than machines pumping blood, but beautiful vessels that allow us to do so much more than we think we can.  What a perfect song. 

I think a lot of the time we look back on the past year and talk about how much we want the new year to be better. We look at areas that we fell short and areas that we want to better ourselves in. We get so excited for our resolutions that we forget to celebrate and reflect on the year we just had. I found myself on the 31st wondering what I had to show for 2015. As much as I accomplished, I wasn't feeling the greatest. I've been feeling incredibly uncertain lately. 

I wanted to write a quick note to end off 2015. It's been an incredible, challenging year. Not challenging in a bad way. In the best kind of way. Where I was asked to step outside of my comfort zone, I immersed myself in prayer and my hearts desires, still knowing that I could go so much deeper. I actually think that as wonderful as 2015 was, it was actually the moment BEFORE it all really starts. 

I'm expecting 2016 to me 10x the battle 2015 was. Something inside just says I'm on the edge of something. I'm definitely not the quantum leap kind of gal. I don't believe I'll have some miraculous breakthrough, but a series of small triumphs and disappointments that teach me to be the best version of myself. The issue is that quantum leaps are easier to remember than tiny steps. When you accomplish things through a series of small consistent steps, it's difficult to look back and pinpoint when everything changed, even though you've been working so hard for so long.

So if I ever take anything for granted, if I ever wonder when 'my victory' will come, or when I will get my shot, or when I will be really really pushed and challenged... I will look back on this and remember what kind of year 2015 was.

2015 was the year that I decided to forget about what I thought my life should look like and pursue an online business that I felt a rush of positivity from. 

2015 was the year that I tried as much as I could to appreciate my beautiful home in Niagara. I wanted so badly to move out but I also wanted things to stay exactly the same. I spent every morning in the summer working on my Beachbody business and own personal development outside on a patio. I don't think I ever appreciated my parents more. 

2015 was the year where I fell in love with West of Indie. A musical project I am BLESSED to be a part of. We had so many hilarious gigs, useless practises, an E.P that has yet to release... we joked so often about being the best "worst band ever" because we just have way too much fun and never take ourselves too seriously... but I wasn't hard on myself for it. Nothing makes me happier than sitting in a jam packed car with Emilie and David listening to our pre show ritual songs, screwing up on stage in ways that only we would notice, and debriefing about our shows while planning our upcoming world tours over chicken fingers afterwards. 

2015 was the year I wrote my favourite song of mine, Carry On. I will never get tired of sharing it. 

2015 was the year that I prayed for you, whoever is reading this. I prayed that you would find whatever peace or happiness you may be looking for. I prayed you would take risks and reach out to people who inspire you. I prayed you would connect your joy to your purpose.

2015 was the year I travelled on the excursion of a lifetime with my family. It was then I realized, for the 100th time that they are my ultimate source of happiness. 

2015 was the year that I visited the Anne Frank Huis in Amsterdam, and realized in a pivotal moment how much a little girl could change my perspective. I realized how lucky I was to share that experience with three of my close friends.

2015 was the year I thanked God every day for Abby Marie. My mentor, my friend, who believed in me so much that she helped fund an experience I will never be able to repay her for. 

2015 was the year I saw Chalene Johnson, my absolute inspiration, speak for the first time.

2015 was the year that I was moved by Sarah McFarlane, who reached out to me in January for guidance and ran so fast with the few suggestions I gave her- I am literally still stuck in her stardust. What an incredibly dedicated woman. 

2015 was the year that I decided my gifts weren't being properly used in the place I was working. It was the year that I quit my job and sacrificed an income and "dignity" by loafing all summer at my parents house to try to figure out my ACTUAL career calling.

2015 was the year I was told by so many people to get on a teaching supply list. It was also the year I ignored them, as I knew I was meant for something different.

2015 was the year I went through the most stressful interview process of my life, and with the help of some amazing cheerleaders, came out successfully. 

2015 was the year that I DID find my career calling. What a step into the sun. 

2015 was also the year that I got turned down for a lot of jobs I applied for. I even got offered a full time teaching position and then had it taken away. What a heartbreaking moment. Several heartbreaking moments. That fit perfectly into my journey.

2015 was the year I moved into my very first apartment in Toronto. And as beautiful as it is, I also realized that having family around is absolutely incomparable to money, swanky accommodations or living in a metropolis. It is everything. 

2015 was the year Katie and I shared a bachelor apartment... and the closeness was actually comforting. I will always feel at home in East York.

2015 was the year I watched my little sister's confidence waver significantly for the first time, with her diagnosis of Diabetes. 2016 will be the year that I watch in awe as she skyrockets out of that, further than I can possibly imagine. 

2016 was the year I witnessed an incredible change in Jason. I aim to be a support for him. 

2015 was the year I met an influx of INCREDIBLY inspiring people. Fitness coaches, musicians from home, and motivational speakers and managers at my place of work. It feels good to surround myself with people who challenge me. 

2015 was the year I tried my hardest to commit to a fitness routine. And even though I'm not perfect, I am striving for body positivity every day. It was the year I really started believing in myself. 

2015 was the year I found my faith again. Finally stepped back from the cliff I was on.

2015 was the year I let my hair down publicly, in all of its wild unruliness, more times than I have in my entire life. 

2015 was the year I exhausted my energy on boys who didn't deserve it. I'm aiming for 2016 to be different. With that said, 2015 was also the year that I allowed myself to be open to new love, something I haven't done in a while. 

2015 was the year I admitted some secrets to my friends that were holding me back. I'm grateful for their advice and understanding. Thank you Rox and Tiffany.

2015 was the year I got really close with my cousin, Theresa, who I had always been friends with but never felt personally connected to. It was the year we pushed each other.

2015 was the year I cried a LOT. For no reason at all, other than that I was lonely, or grateful, or uncertain, or embarrassed, or truly touched. I cried so much that I almost let myself believe I wasn't the cheerful girl I used to be. But she's still around. I want to try to be unapologetic for my emotions moving forward

2015 was the year I met and was touched by over 1000 young people, who waited on uncomfortable gym floors and in line ups of people just to say hi to me, and tell me that they love to sing too. 

2015 was the year I got emails from children who's faces I wish I could remember, who were too shy to talk to me in person but emailed me just to tell me what their dreams were. How could I not be eternally grateful to read those messages?

2015 was the moment before it starts...

Whatever "it" may be.

xo Meaghan