Ever since eighth grade, I have kept my hair long in means to comfort me through the years of growing up and going through puberty, but I decided to cut it a few weeks after my high school graduation. It was a big transition for me and even for the people around me; long hair had become a trademark of mine and everyone I knew associated me with it. There was never a time when someone wouldn't compliment how pretty it was or how they wished their hair was like it, but there had to be a time when I let that part of me go.
The day I got it cut, I didn't even know I had a hair appointment. My mom surprised me with giving her appointment to me, but I wasn't ready. I freaked out about an hour before I had to go and looked at Pinterest to see the ways I could cut it. I knew I didn't want a trim like the other haircuts I had but I knew I didn't want it shoulder length short. I asked opinions from my family and friends and everytime they said cut it short I told them no and ignored their explanations.
I decided on getting about two inches off my hair, which doesn't seem like much, but to me, it was a lot. I mentally prepared myself for the cut and let my anxiety run its course before I sat in the chair and waited for the scissors. You know how most people are afraid of going to the dentist or the doctor? Well, that's me with hair appointments, and my hairdresser knows this.
She told me where she thinks I should get it cut and it's not that bad. It's still long and I can deal with it. But something came over me, and I told her she can go a little shorter- this when I knew I had messed up. She quickly cut it, not giving me enough time to say goodbye or reminisce on my long hair and just like that, it was gone.
After she was done cutting and fixing it up for me, I thought I liked it. I thought that it was nice but I just need some getting used to it; but when we got back to our house, I had a complete breakdown. I hated it. I couldn't stand how short it was and how it made me look. My mom tried to calm me down by saying "it's just hair, it will grow back." but that made it worse. Nothing anyone could say or do could make my hair grow back to its length and I was stuck with my short hair.
Now after that traumatic experience, I thought it would never get better but today I'm learning to accept my hair for what it is: hair. I'm learning to love fewer tangles and quicker showers and learning to not care if it changes the way I look. My long hair was something that was apart of me and it always will be, but if I didn't let it go, I would never know what shortish hair was like. I'm still going to be me, no matter how long or short my hair is, and I'm still trying to accept that.
