Letting Go (Of my Hair & My Resistance)
By BCriswell on March 21, 2011
I was feeling weighed down. I think I had been for months. It was everything.... the wedding had come and gone and despite my best efforts at time travel, I wasn't able to go back to the wonder of that day. The New Year ushered in a string of loss, and I am nearing the end of writing my book. I was feeling a familiar tug.
Tug. Tug. Tug.
I looked in the mirror, and there I saw the same person over and over... the person that people saw me as that wasn't matching the way I felt on the inside. Even I couldn't reconcile these competing images. So there it was again: tugging at me. It was the urge to do something drastic--something radical. I needed a change. Something to yank me out of this comfort zone and into a new place, perhaps a slightly less comfortable place, even.
Tug. Tug. Tug.
I had been secretly looking at the hairstyles for months. Googling them when I was alone, and relishing the feeling of me being in that style. This was something I had done before; in high school I cut off all my long hair. I remember then it had been strange to me. I liked it in some ways, but I didn't have the confidence of being a woman yet, and so it was not all I had hope it would be.
Finally, I had to answer the call of the tug I had been feeling. It wasn't going away; this hair was holding my past--my history--and not in a good way. It was pulling me down into the earth until I was cemented in place, unable to move. It positively had to go. I was resolved: I was cutting my long, luscious locks into an edgy faux-hawk. It was as good as done. I made the appointment. And I stopped thinking about it... mostly.
The thing was, I had grown too comfortable. I needed a shake up--and not the kind of shake up I had been experiencing--one that was in my control. As Yoda says, "fear of loss is the path to the dark side." And I felt that being afraid to cut my hair meant that I was...well, just afraid. And fear, at least in my eyes, is not all that attractive. I was feeling anxious, like, all the time. I felt that the change I wanted to feel inside could best be echoed on the outside.
And so, with a rather swift chop of the shears, the pony tale that had become an albatross was gone, and with it, the weight of the world had been cut away, at last. I absolutely love it. My little crown of hair that stands on end making me considerably taller! It's radical because I am radical. I am free. Free of hair, free of care. I also think it's good to know that I have this power: the power to let go of something that was once one of my defining features. I now own a new kind of femininity, and one that I am happy to take on. As for the tug? It's gone... at least for now.