I cut all my hair off.
I don’t mean short, I mean short-short. Tiny bangs, actually no bangs.
Everything as short as it can go without the use of the clippers. I can’t do clippers.
My face is right there, no sweep of hair to hide my relentless forehead wrinkle, nothing.
It’s not like my hair was long. I cut it to “kind of short,” a couple of years ago. But I was not prepared for what trimming those last few pieces would unleash.
I’ve always been a hair hider. My hair is crazy thick and when it was long I was often told it was beautiful. Why would anyone do away with something that was the center of so many compliments?
Because it was a nightmare.
A forty-five-minutes-to-blowdry, heavy-ponytail-headache nightmare. It became bigger than me, more than my face. Even though it allowed me to hide when I didn’t exercise enough, or mask the insecurity of the week, my hair overshadowed everything.
It had to go.
So I pulled it into a ponytail one last time and with the help of Amanda, I sent it off to be made into a wig, or two or three, for people with far greater concerns than their damn hair.
I had every intention of growing it back. I’d play short pixie for a while and then grow it out again. I had to because my hair was “gorgeous,” my “best feature.”
Yeah, it will probably be Judi Dench forever now.
For one, I don’t have the patience for that odd middle Dutch Boy Paint Guy stage. I don’t like headbands. I can’t do it.
More importantly, it has been revealing. I look at myself now, actually notice the pieces that make me. I try to drink more water. I don’t skip my exercise. I take better care of my skin. Somehow removing the veil has led to taking stock and finding acceptance.
This is certainly not a “let’s all go out and cut our hair” post. I’m sure we all have things we hide behind. Some are physical; others aren’t. I have bunches of emotional armor, but that’s not easily discarded with a trip to the salon.
It took less than an hour to do away with my best feature and last week I took it further.
I’m not entirely sure what all of this means yet, and while I could simply brush it off as a haircut and “it grows back,” somehow this latest trim pops larger for me. Like it has something to do with being enough, feeling female, enjoying my passage of time. Finding a real best feature.
If I figure out anything deeper than that, I’ll let you know.
On the lighter side, I’m kind of cute after about ten minutes out of the shower. Those are precious life minutes right there.
That’s all from the laundry room. Short nap.