The DISCOVERY Zone

What are you still discovering about yourself?

I know I’m dating myself, but if you were a kid near Brooklyn, New York, in the ’90s, there was this place called Discovery Zone.

Man, did I get excited when I knew we were going there.

Similar to Chuck E. Cheese, but somehow the anticipation of walking through the mall to get there added a level of uncovering fun that I loved.

I remember one day my mother left me with a group for a birthday party. She left me fresh and cute like any Panamanian mother would. I had the jewelry, the Johnson’s Baby Cologne I can still smell to this day, the cute curly hair, and an all-denim outfit.

I had a blast.

When my mother came back to pick me up, all I can remember is the look of disgust on her face.

I froze, thinking I had done something wrong.

“What happened to your hair?” she asked.

I hadn’t even thought about how it looked because I was too busy having fun. But boy, I could see her defeat.

Now that I’m older, I understand it differently. Here was a young mom in her twenties trying to figure out her own life, and after all her hard work getting me ready for this party, I looked like she hadn’t even tried.

I don’t know all the thoughts that went through my mother’s mind that day, but I do remember that from that point on we were always trying something.

Texturizers.

Relaxers.

New Dominican salons that promised they could keep my hair looking good.

Even when my mother tried braids, those curls had a way of popping right back through.

Controlling my hair—and the decisions about relaxing it versus not relaxing it—became such a hot topic that I remember heated conversations between my parents about what was best.

In the beginning, I was happy to straighten my hair. I felt what we used to call “all that and a bag of chips” with my straight, flowy hair.

But eventually, I grew to hate relaxing it.

The smell.

The burning.

The feeling that my scalp was on fire.

When my hair got wet, I looked like a wet chicken. Eventually, even when I straightened it, it started looking weak and unhealthy.

It wasn’t until 2018, during a leadership training, that I realized how much my hair weighed on my insecurities.

We were unpacking the things we needed to deal with before leading others. There was an image of a man holding his head with natural hair versus standing tall with freshly groomed hair. The phrase and idea of “civilizing ourselves” came up as the conversation transitioned into race, beauty standards, and the messages society sends us about what is acceptable.

It tore me up inside.

What surprised me most was realizing that my insecurities were never really about my hair. My hair had become the symbol for all the fears underneath.

I worried my hair wasn’t professional enough.

I worried it was too big.

I remember someone once telling me that my curls didn’t even look like curls—they looked like a mop.

That comment sat with me for years longer than it should have.

No matter the event, interview, presentation, professional development, or important meeting, I would stay up for hours straightening my hair. In my mind, there was no way I would get accepted into a program, offered a job, or be received well as a presenter with my natural curls.

The irony is that while I was working so hard to become a leader, I was convinced a part of who I naturally was needed to be hidden in order to lead.

Looking back now, I realize how exhausting that was.

How much energy do we spend trying to fit into a version of ourselves that we think others will accept more?

I cried for nearly an hour.

During the lunch break, I called my mother.

We spent the next hour on the phone while I aired out years of insecurities that had been bottled up inside. We talked about beauty. We talked about identity. We talked about the messages we had both absorbed over the years.

By the end of that conversation, we both took a deep breath.

Neither of us had all the answers, but we both hoped for a future where we could embrace our authentic selves a little more fully.

I thought that conversation would be the happily-ever-after moment of my hair journey.

It wasn’t.

It’s been a bittersweet relationship ever since.

I stressed about what I would do with my hair for my wedding.

Even when I found out I was having a girl, one of my first thoughts was, Another head of hair?! How am I going to survive?

I may or may not be the only one who has experienced this roller coaster of emotions with their hair.

But every day, I’m discovering new beauties—not just about my natural hair, but about my identity as a whole.

It’s become its own Discovery Zone.

A place where I uncover old insecurities, challenge old beliefs, and learn to appreciate parts of myself that I once tried to change.

Maybe that’s what living is.

Not pretending our insecurities don’t exist, but having the courage to examine them.

That’s one of the reasons I started the Courtney Curls children’s book series.

Life is short.

How do I teach my daughter to love herself and embrace her authentic self if I am not doing that work myself?

As I discover my insecurities, I try to transform them into confidence. I try to turn shame into pride and fear into acceptance.

Because when I look at my little girl, I see a reflection of beauty far greater than I could have ever imagined.

And I want her to see it too.

Challenge for You

Are there insecurities bottled up inside that are holding you back from being your true self?

This week, take a moment to identify one.

Not to judge yourself.

Not to fix yourself.

Simply to acknowledge it.

Ask yourself:

Where did this belief come from?

Is it helping me become the person I want to be, or is it keeping me from becoming that person?

Life is too short to spend it hiding pieces of who you are.

Building confidence in your authentic self doesn’t just benefit you. It creates permission for the people around you—and the generations after you—to do the same.

So what will you begin uncovering in your own Discovery Zone?

Love,

Gesai