Saying 'No' After You've Said 'Yes'
How doing my daughter’s hair turned into a lesson on consent
I didn’t expect that a lesson about consent could start with a hairstyle. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Some people bristle when I say that I’ve been teaching my daughter about consent since she was a toddler. I think they’re imagining me sitting down with a two-year old explaining sex and communication as I would with an adult. Obviously, that’s never been the case.
There are age-appropriate ways of talking to kids about consent—whether it's never forcing them to hug relatives or using tickling (specifically: not doing it) as a way to teach boundaries. And up until recently, I thought I was pretty much on top of making sure my 10 year-old knew everything she needed to about the issue.
But I forgot that these conversations aren’t one-and-done; they’re an ongoing process. That’s where the hairstyle comes in.
After one of Layla’s showers this weekend, I asked if I could blow-dry her hair. We were about to see her grandparents for the first time in months, and I wanted her to look cute and put-together. She said sure, so I got to work while she played Roblox.
Outside of the occasional grumble when I hit a tangle, Layla didn’t seem to mind. But when I finished up, she left the room abruptly and didn’t respond when I asked if she liked how it looked.
It turns out that Layla was upset because a few minutes in, she realized that she actually didn’t want me to dry her hair. It was taking longer than she expected, the noise was loud and annoying, and she just didn’t care as much as I did about how her hair was going to look.
The problem, though, was that she had already agreed to me blow-drying her hair—so she didn’t feel like she could say anything once I got started.
Now, five minutes of annoyance around getting your hair dried is not exactly the stuff of nightmares. But it is a big deal that my daughter believed that once she said ‘yes’ to something, she couldn’t or shouldn’t say ‘no’. That what she wanted wasn’t as important as not disappointing me.
I love that my daughter wants others to be happy. She is a thoughtful, kind person. I don’t want to change that. But also I need her to know that caring about other people does not necessitate sidelining her own desires. Even if that means saying ‘no’ after you’ve said ‘yes’, even if it means that someone you care about doesn’t get what they want. (Just as important, I want her to know that the only appropriate response to a ‘no’—no matter when you say it—is ‘okay, cool’.)
The harder lesson to teach that day, though, was about me: That the interaction we had over her hair wasn’t just about her understanding that she could change her mind, but that it was my responsibility to be tuned into what she wanted. Because if I was paying closer attention, I probably could have caught on that Layla was unhappy and taken a second to check in.
Again, it’s just hair—my daughter wasn’t super upset, just irritated. It wasn’t the end of the world. But those small moments are exactly the right time to go beyond the basics of bodily autonomy and consent. We have these mundane opportunities every day to reinforce messages that our kids will need in bigger, more important situations.
At some point, Layla is going to get tired of me chiming in with life lessons (she may be annoyed already, to be honest). As she gets older and the eye-rolls increase, though, at least I’ll know that she feels empowered to tell me to back off.
Saying 'No' After You've Said 'Yes'
"She didn’t feel like she could say anything once I got started" could easily a collection of essays about my life. Part of me has a lot of bad feelings about the things I endured over the years because I didn't feel like I could say anything. Another part of me is grateful that I am learning about boundaries and better self-care, but boy is sure is an ongoing process!
Yep. Boundaries? Autonomy? Authenticity? All sacrificed to the Toni Home Permanent, starting at 2 years old, to ensure my hair matched Shirley Temple’s curls. Tears didn’t help. At six years old I was enlisted to assist, handing her the miniature squares of crinkly parchment wrapping papers as she drenched each small section of hair with that odious poisonous dirt purple chemical solution; Neutralizer, Art Linklater called it on TV. The finger sized papers gave traction to the curlers snapped in place...one after another. No getting over the first snap before the next & the next & the next followed. And the next. No end in sight. Maybe the Neutralizer destroyed her weekly manicure. Maybe that was why she finally gave up giving her three daughters the Toni treatment?
My tears & agony? Discounted. Suffering for beauty was ‘normal’ to her. It was the 1950’s, after all. Hair. A very big deal. Then and now. My granddaughter, like her own mother, stands up for herself & her hair. I couldn’t be more grateful that neither had to learn that lesson the hard way!!!