Due to growing up with over a foot of healthy hair swaying from my head, the decision to cut it was monumental. Why was something so trivial such a big deal? Because long hair was what I was known for; it was how people defined me.
…It got to the point where my nickname was Pocahontas…
From preschool to age 23, no matter how much my face and body changed, the length of my hair was consistent. Growing up, I always played with the idea of maybe taking a scissor to it, but it never seemed like something I would actually do. I mean, it was ‘my thing’ – How could I? And then, it happened. I finally picked up the phone and made the appointment.
Having the date set still did not make my decision feel real. I told all my friends and family; perhaps subconsciously, looking for approval of my new decision. After filtering through countless suggestions from friends and family, I decided to move forward with cutting my locks and it dragged me through an emotional roller coaster.
The ups & downs can be broken up into three major stages: Anxiety, PTSD, and The Wake-Up.
If you’ve considered switching up your look- or you’re just curious as to how dramatic a person can be- keep reading. It’s about to get emotional. THIS IS A TRUE STORY.
Stage One – Anxiety:
… Or what I like to call a beautiful mixture of excitement and nervousness. This feeling stayed with me from the moment I made the appointment all the way up until I was in the seat. Knowing that I was going to cut an excessive amount of hair off –14 inches to be exact– I decided to donate it to ‘Wigs for Kids’. (If you’re thinking about doing the same, make sure you mention it before the cutting process so the hairdresser can prepare the hair accordingly for mailing out.)
After the scissors were put down and my hair was blown out, I looked at the final product and I felt FABULOUS. I just did the unthinkable; I parted ways with my long, beautiful hair for a fun and bouncy bob. I was feelin’ myself until…
Stage Two- PTSD:
The high from my excitement came crashing down into a puddle of self-doubt. I woke up in the middle of the night, hopped of out bed and inspected my new ‘do’ in the mirror. “What did I do?!” I yelled at myself while I grabbed my hair realizing how short it was. Between this mini meltdown, the mascara residue under my eyes and a serious case of bed head, I was a hot mess. It did not look anything like it did when I left the salon. My reality became my biggest nightmare.
Stage Three- The Wake Up:
…New hair, who dis?
The reality of the good I’d done by donating my hair to children who need it was far more important than how I’ll look in my next selfie.
Overall, I don’t regret it at all. It’s another chapter in my book of life. I LOVE that I had the courage to change my look; not to mention I’m having so much fun trying out new styles to see what works for me. I couldn’t be more happy or proud that somewhere a cute little girl or boy is rocking a pretty little wig made from MY hair. The greatest gift was being able to give them the confidence of knowing their disease doesn’t have to define them.
In the end, it was exactly what I was meant to do.