Grace Grows Here: A Second Chance for My Mane and My Soul

Series: Grace Grows Here Hair Oil. - Blog 1.

I still remember being a little girl, mesmerized by the mystery of adulthood. I’d follow my mom around the house like a chatty cat—watching her juggle housework, kids, husband, business, family, church. And then do it all again the next day. I admired my aunt, an ER nurse, the community’s healer and helper. Always ready with advice, always reaching out a hand.

I’d sit in church and study the women in their 30s, secretly shocked when I learned their age. In my teenage mind, that was old. Meanwhile, the girls in their 20s? They were the object of fascination for me and my little crew. Beautiful. Lively. Flirty. Fun. I blinked—and suddenly, I was one of them. I led worship with passion, lived with purpose, and never once worried about skincare or hair.

But life keeps blinking.

Another decade passed. And with it came change. I’ll share more one day, but for now, I’ll say this: I started thinking about skincare—not as vanity, but as a “Plan B” in case my good genes didn’t hold up. My family’s a mixed bag. On my mom’s side, women live to 100 with grace. On my dad’s side, greys show up in their 20s and wisdom lines follow soon after.

I was spared in my 20s. But in my 30s and a little beyond, I wondered: would I be spared again?

Turns out, I wasn’t.

One morning, I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself. It felt like I’d aged 20 years overnight. I panicked. I cried. I wanted to disappear under a blanket and never come out. But then—Mommy, mommy—I remembered my kids. I got up. I did the day. And then the next.

In the past two years, I’ve gained lines I never had. My hair lost its melanin—too many strands to count. The top of my head told a story I wasn’t ready to hear. And then came the fallout. Literally. My hair ties no longer fit. I didn’t need 2.5 boxes of dye anymore. My once waist-length, bright red mane was thinning fast.

Wrinkles? Fine. Greys? Okay. Slower metabolism? Sure. Hormonal rollercoaster? Buckled in. But my hair? That I couldn’t handle.

I had already started making my own body butter, so I turned to nature for help. I searched for ingredients that could reverse—or at least slow—the hair disaster. But my texture was changing too. You’d have to see it to believe it.

I wasn’t consistent. Life was full—work, kids, home, church. And like many women wearing all the hats, I was last on the list. But eventually, I realized: consistency matters. These nature gems can renew strands, reawaken follicles, and strengthen roots. And slowly, I started seeing results. Less fallout. Little baby hairs at my temples. Hope.

And in that hope, I saw Him.

Because the truth is, I didn’t just need a hair oil. I needed healing. I needed comfort. I needed to remember that even when my body felt like it was betraying me, my Creator never would. These ingredients—rosemary, fenugreek, amla, hibiscus—they’re not just botanical tools. They’re part of the provision. Gifts from the One who knows every hair on my head.

I made a promise to myself: I will make time. I want my mane back. I want my phoenix moment—rising from the hormonal ashes. Or at least something close.

But more than that, I want to remind other women: you’re not alone. You’re not forgotten. You’re not too far gone. Whether you’re in your 30s, 40s, 50s, or beyond—there’s grace for you here. Not just in the oil, but in the One who made it. The One who sees you. The One who restores.

Grace Grows Here isn’t just a product. It’s a testimony. A whisper of hope. A reminder that even when life changes overnight, renewal is still possible. And that the deepest kind of healing—the kind that endures—can only be found in Jesus.

If you would like to see where this series will go, you can find blog 2 here.

'Til next time :)