Why Every Child Deserves to See Themselves on the Page

The first time a child sees themselves — really sees themselves — in a book, something shifts.

I've watched it happen. The way a child's posture changes when they encounter a character who moves through the world the way they do. Who looks like them, talks like them, lives in something like their world. The way they lean into the page. The slight widening of the eyes that says, without words: oh. That's me.

That moment should not be rare.

For too many children, it still is.

Where this book came from

Curls, Coils & All My Colors came from a specific place: I wanted to write a book where a Black girl's hair was celebrated, not explained.

Not managed. Not tamed. Not offered as a point of conflict that gets neatly resolved by the end. Just celebrated — as something beautiful, and joyful, and worthy of a whole book's worth of wonder.

It sounds simple. But when I looked at what existed, truly looked, I found too many books where hair like this was a problem to be solved, or a difference to be explained to children who didn't share it, or a punchline, or a teachable moment. All of those have their place. But I wasn't looking for a teachable moment. I was looking for a mirror. A celebration. An unapologetic, unexplained declaration: this is beautiful, and it is yours.

That's the book I wrote.

What representation actually does

Let me talk about what representation in children's literature actually does, because it's sometimes discussed in ways that flatten it into a checkbox exercise — diverse books for diverse readers, everyone gets a turn to be included.

That framing misses the depth of it.

Children form their understanding of the world — of who matters, who gets to be the protagonist, who gets to be loved and celebrated and centered in a story — partly through the stories they're surrounded by. From a very young age, they're absorbing a picture of how the world works. Who the main characters are. Whose stories get told.

When those stories don't include them, something happens. It's subtle, and it accumulates. You don't need research to understand it — you just need to remember what it felt like, as a child, to reach for a book and not find yourself there. To do the translation work. To imagine yourself into a story that wasn't made with you in mind.

When those stories do include them — genuinely, joyfully, centrally — something different happens. The seed that gets planted is: you are here. You are seen. You are the kind of person stories are told about.

That seed matters for the rest of a child's life.

These books are for every child

I want to say something to parents, teachers, and anyone who selects books for children: diverse books are not only for children who are underrepresented in them. They're for every child.

A child who sees only characters who look like them in their books is developing an incomplete picture of the world — one that will require correction later. And that correction is much harder than simply building a fuller picture from the beginning.

Books about Black girls with beautiful hair, books about children who pray differently or eat differently or whose families look different from what the culture has historically called "default" — these are gifts for every reader. They expand what children understand to be normal. They expand what children understand to be worth celebrating.

That is not a niche educational goal. That is what literature, at its best, has always done: made the world bigger.

What I hope for every reader

Every child who picks up Curls, Coils & All My Colors will have a different experience with it. Some will see themselves directly and feel that recognition. Some will see someone new to them and learn something about beauty they hadn't considered. Some will see their best friend, or their classmate, or someone they love.

All of those responses are the point.

The book isn't for one child. It's for every child who deserves a bigger world. Which is all of them.

They all deserve to find themselves on the page. They all deserve to know that their story is worth telling.

That's why I write children's books. That's why this one exists.

What readers have told me

Since Curls, Coils & All My Colors came out, readers have shared their responses on Amazon — and they confirm what I already believed about what this kind of book can do.

Annette Phillip wrote: "I enjoyed reading this story and it resonates to when I was younger, how my hair was styled resonated with my feelings. Even as an adult wearing my hair natural and the different ways I could style it sometimes based on the outfit or my mood. I know young readers will enjoy and learn from the message. Being yourself and expressing your feelings on how you wear your hair or dress gives you a sense of empowerment. I also love the illustrations — bright and cute. Great message."

Jen Cate put it this way: "What a fantastic, creative way to encourage self-expression! Children often don't have the language necessary to communicate how they're feeling, and author Julia Washington does a beautiful job of providing another outlet: hair. Wear it up, down, bold, soft — whatever your mood, you're allowed to show up just as you are. I think this is such a smart introduction to encouraging children to find all kinds of other creative outlets to express themselves. Highly recommend!"

Cari Minnamon wrote: "This story is beautifully illustrated and contains an equally beautiful message of self love. This is so important for young girls of color. Hair is such an integral part of a young girl's identity and I loved how the author tied hairstyles to different feelings. Wonderful book!"

And Jess C, who came to the book expecting something different entirely: "I thought this was going to be a book about learning hair colours but it was rather about feelings and how they're reflected in hairstyles as one learns who one is and how to express oneself. Its expressive backgrounds and the main character's poses help drive the main message home: it's okay to be you, no matter how you're feeling."

Those responses confirm what I already knew: a book like this creates ripples that extend beyond the reading. It opens something. It gives children language and images for something they already felt but didn't have words for.

That's what I'll keep writing toward. For every child who needs a mirror. For every child who needs a window. Which is, in the end, all of them.

Not a lesson. A mirror. A celebration.