Hair

I cut my hair. Really short. Now, it's not the first time, but it' been awhile.
When my son was just a baby, which was 7 years ago now, I shaved my hair clean off with my husband's clippers after a botched attempt at a self-performed haircut. It was completely impulsive, but I remember grinning at myself in the mirror, thrilled by my own daring and tenacity. Doing something so bold felt good, gave me a sense of strength that I sometimes forget that I have. "Here I am", it screamed, "there's nothing to hide behind."

I kept my shaved/short hair for quite awhile but it's been years now and my hair had grown quite long. It was thin, tangled, coming out in places…I'd been considering cutting it for awhile, remembering how liberated I felt when it was short. Then that second voice in my head said, "You were younger then, thinner…you didn't need anything to hide your face behind". And indeed, in the 7 years that have passed since the first hair-shaving, I've nursed for 4 years, been pregnant for 9 months, suffered several major depressive episodes, put on weight and unschooled three children. And yes, it shows…in the lines in my face, in the somewhat puffiness under my eyes and in the wisps of grayish-whitish-silver that congregate at my scalp. I let those things convince me that my hair provided some sort of cover, that only fresh faces deserved to be seen, that I could hide the encroaching white hairs underneath the longer, brown ones on top.

But I've found myself feeling stronger lately…physically and emotionally. I've been doing yoga for several months and while I'm not as thin, toned or accomplished as some of my yoga peers, I have more upper-body strength than I ever had and more endurance than I imagined myself capable of having. I've accepted the unconventional child-raising methods I've chosen to use, accepted that we don't necessarily fit in the mainstream and accepted that I am truly human, perfect in my imperfection. I am valid. I am worth seeing.

So when we were all sitting around at our Fall Equinox party a few weeks ago, discussing the things we were wanting to let go, I mentioned my hair. Yes, it's just hair, but it's also representative of the past years of struggle, the weight of uncertainty of my choices, the fear of showing myself. My friend offered to give me a haircut, right then and there and after some convincing, I agreed.

"How short do you want it?" she asked me.
"Really short," I said, "I want it to be bad-ass."
She laughed, "Ellie, you're too soft to be bad-ass. But I'll do my best."
So the hair started coming off, inch by inch. At one point she stopped and stood back to look at me. Her eyes lit up and she said, "It's really cute!"
"I don't want cute," I told her soberly, "No cute."
She sighed and kept going. We went inside to take a look.
"Shorter," I said, after looking in the mirror.
One last round of cuts later and she stepped back again, surveying me.
"It looks like it was shaved and is just growing out. This is what you want."

I peered in the mirror. Indeed it was what I wanted. My hair was background noise, an afterthought to my face in all its lined, tired glory. But somehow, to me, I didn't look as tired anymore. My silver hairs looked like they belonged instead of being intruders on my otherwise youthful strands. The strength that I knew I had, seemed to now be more evident. I felt free.
Just as the trees lose their leaves in the fall, bringing one cycle to a close, I've dropped my hair. It feels like a fresh start…not a new me, but a more definitive me, a decidedly stronger me.

The friend who cut my hair has a 5 year old son. At the park recently, he told me that bad guys have short hair so now I looked like a bad guy. I took this as a great compliment. I've always had a softness, a tender look about me. You could call it innocence, femininity, vulnerability…all qualities that I possess, more at some points in my life than others. The addition of this other element, of strength, of "bad" was quite a boon. That five-year-old made my day.

That being said, it isn't the haircut itself that is bad-ass or strong--it's the act of cutting the hair off. It's the strength it takes to say, "I don't need this to be feminine". It's the courage to let the world see the evidence of my human struggles and victories on my face. And for me, it's being brave enough to drop the facade of "good" girl. I am caring, compassionate and kind but I am also fierce, opinionated and confident. And both sides are worth seeing.