Creating myself with my own two hands, beginning again, and starting a new enveloped me, and the idea that changing myself to such an extent that I would leave everything behind was so extremely appealing. This is what prompted me to cut off all my hair, hair that my mother and my grandmother took so much pride in, but It was nothing more than hair to me. They loved my long hair, praised it in fact for not being the kinky hair found on most of my family members and I found it so strange and so separating. I didn't hate my hair, I didn't have any particular feeling towards it but it seemed whenever I would mention a cut, it was as if I had threatened them. It bothered me, their hair was beautiful, full of strength, vitality, and personality and I wondered why they never saw it that way.

They saw my hair as being some separate entity apart from me, something that defined me and my value but it was just hair, grossly elongated from my scalp. It didn't define me, It wasn't me. Over time I started chopping it off, it began with an impulse while I was in middle school, I hid in the bathroom for an hour and gave myself one of the worst cuts imaginable. My mom woke up to bunches of hair in the trash and immediately lost it. As a punishment she had me go to school with the lopsided hairdo for a week before getting it professionally trimmed. But let me tell you a little secret, the rush was amazing, cutting it all off without a care in the world, without any plan was euphoric and since then it's been a secret pleasure of mine to cut my hair when I'm overly stressed.

Now my hair wasn't very short, but that's what it would become in the near future. It was like a breath of fresh hair every few months or so I would indulge myself and come home to a rant on how I wasn't as pretty anymore and that only pretty girls have long hair. It was laughable, I never saw the beauty or convenience in hair that dangled past my waist. I was drawn to shorter hair, hair that brushed along the shoulder ever so slightly and had a bob to its movement. I began to focus my attention on main characters that represented what I wanted to become. All of a sudden I realized that although hair doesn't have the power to define me or anyone else I have the ability to define it for myself. I saw strength in women that let go of these lengthy restraints and admired them for breaking a strange stereotype.

My mother and grandmother soon adjusted to my preference although they still made a few snide remarks they saw how rejuvenating it can become. When I finally had the courage to cut my hair as short as it is now was at a time in my life where I welcomed change. I was beginning to discover many new things about myself and through this, I have never felt more comfortable in my skin or my hair. It was freeing when I saw all that hair falling from my head onto the floor and the bits of encouragement from both the hairdressers and other customers reassured me that what I was doing was right for me. I love my hari now, or my lack thereof and I feel much more confident in myself without all that hair to hide me.