Returning to Myself in Color

Today, for the first time in nearly ten years, I put color on my nails.🫣

Not nude.

Not sheer pink.

Not the muted, professional shades that quietly disappear into boardrooms, conference tables, and carefully curated perceptions.

Actual color. Mint green, in fact. With a design. 🤌🏾

And to most people, that probably sounds small. Trivial, even. But for me, it felt oddly emotional.

For years, I have existed in spaces where presentation mattered deeply. Industries where women—especially Black women—learn very quickly that competence is often judged long before we ever speak. Every detail becomes part of the assessment: tone, posture, hair, clothing, volume, expression, and yes… even nails.

Somewhere along the way, I unconsciously adopted the belief that professionalism required neutrality. That to be taken seriously, I needed to soften anything that felt too expressive, too feminine, too bold, too noticeable. And so, I stopped wearing color.

Not because anyone directly told me I couldn’t. But because corporate culture has a way of teaching women to edit themselves without ever having to say the words out loud.

And the truth is, many women understand this language fluently. We learn to become “palatable.”

Approachable, but not too warm.

Confident, but not threatening.

Polished, but not distracting.

Excellent, but exhausting ourselves trying to prove it.

You don’t even realize how much of yourself you’ve muted until one day you begin returning to yourself in small ways.

Sometimes healing does not begin with massive life changes. Sometimes it begins with choosing red nails. Or mint green. Or whatever color reminds you that you are still a person beneath the performance.

When I looked down at my hands today, I realized the emotion had very little to do with the polish itself.

It was about permission.

Permission to exist beyond survival mode.

Permission to embrace softness and expression without fearing it would cost me credibility.

Permission to stop shrinking pieces of myself just to fit inside rooms I already earned my place in.

And maybe that sounds dramatic to attach to a manicure, but don’t think it is.

Liberation rarely arrives all at once.

Sometimes it enters quietly through the smallest decisions:

• Wearing the outfit.

• Speaking the opinion.

• Taking up space.

• Resting without guilt.

• Choosing joy without explanation.

• Putting color back on your nails after ten years.

This season of my life has been teaching me that freedom is not always loud. Sometimes it looks like returning to yourself one small choice at a time.

And honestly?

I think she looks beautiful in color.