In the last seven years of my short life, I have been challenged by the practice of letting go. Through my parent's brutal divorce, the death of loved ones, and a series of heartbreaks, I discovered my own tendency to cling to the things that remain constant in my life. This attachment manifested itself in the seemingly superficial but real connection I've had to my hair. Until a week ago, I had red dreadlocks that hung down to my waist. One week ago, I sat down with a dear friend, lit a candle, had a glass of wine, and shed the mask I've been wearing since I was a teenager.

The decision to shed this mask was a year in the making (beginning with the long overdue realization that I was a walking symbol of cultural appropriation). Almost one year ago, it came to light that the hair I chose to wear was spurring anger in my community. After being called out on my ignorance, I began a process of re-education. I started to realize that my locks were a big “f*ck you” to every woman of color I met, disregarding the trauma many women of color experience in a culture that refuses to accept this hair unless it is worn by women that look like me. What it came down to was the realization that in many (not all) cases, I was building walls with people of color where I wanted to be building bridges as an ally. It got to a point where every time I met someone who was not white, I felt some gut reaction to prove that I wasn't racist. I found myself often tied up in heavy conversations with my white friends about how my locks were culturally appropriative no matter how well-informed, open-hearted, or educated I was.

In order to be a good ally, sometimes we must let go of ideas we do not want to let go of. A year ago, I accepted that I would never be seen as an ally as long as I wore locks. This realization hit me hard but it took me a year to let go because of more personal reasons. Every haircut is like shedding an old version of ourselves, making space to bring in new connections and new realities. For seven years, I held on to one identity, allowing myself to be seen in a single light. I made countless new friends because of the hair I chose to wear, I was confident in who I was, and I loved the way I was perceived by so many of the people I encountered. With the weight of my hair, I also held on to moments and phases of my life that I was not yet ready to let go of. I carried with me the weight of seven years, all of the trauma, the heartache, and the radiant beauty.

Last week, I held a pair of scissors up to one lock and stared at myself in the mirror for 10 minutes. The process of letting go is not an easy one to step up to. It is easy to get attached to moments, people, feelings, and the ways we project ourselves out into the world. As the first lock of hair fell into my hand, I accepted that it was time to let go of the weight. I accepted that I can still see myself as beautiful regardless of my hair. I opened up to a new phase, taking the first step towards a version of myself that does not have to carry such a heavy burden. I chose to stop appropriating a culture that was not mine. I chose to be a better ally, building new bridges with people who I had blocked out without ever having met them. “This too shall pass” is written in ink across my heart as a constant reminder to see every moment as temporary and appreciate every beautiful struggle. Let go, release, move forward.