Hair is complicated. Many years ago my Dad died. It had been a terrible 18 months. I was actively acting on suicidal ideologies (one resulted in a brain injury), my Mum had crossed, hate returned to the family with vengeance in the form of a second wife and biofamily, and I was in rehab. I teetered on the brink of homelessness for 2 years. It was dark days. I desperately wanted love and acceptance, things that were glaringly absent from my life and family relationships. It was during this time I decided to grow out my pixie cut. Yes, if only I “looked” more like others then maybe… possibly.. potentially I could find acceptance. Maybe someone would find me “pretty” which in my mind equated loveable. My hair grew. The sacred work had begun. For 8 years my hair slowly crept down my back. For 8 years I healed me from the inside out, slowly becoming friends with me.
Last week I had the week from hell. It was such a clusterfuck I was dizzy with grief. I caught my reflection in a mirror and realized even though I physically looked awful: bags, pale, dull, exhausted, heartbroken… I actually really loved that person in the mirror. I didn’t need my long hair to make me loveable, I love me. So, off with my hair! And I am ecstatic about it. No more pony tails, no more wet hair hours later, no more headaches, just way less stress and hassle.
Be you. Love you. It’s important