What originally started as a lazy winter developed into a huge life style change, and I couldn’t be happier.

Like a lot of people, I find it really difficult to muster up the motivation to shave during the winter—between sweaters, tights and long pants, why would I? No one’s seeing my skin.

But it was at the beginning of spring that I had a long talk with my boyfriend about what keeping up my lack of shaving might mean. He, of course, as an excellent boyfriend, insisted that I do whatever makes me the happiest because he would (and still does) love me hairless or hairy. So I decided that I would try it out...I would attempt to go as long as I could without shaving.

Because I work at an orthodox Jewish Community Center, it’s very rare that I wear clothes that show much above the knee or under the arms. I felt very lucky to keep my hairy little secret hidden from my co workers and customers. But as the spring turned into summer, and swimming in public became more of a threat, I became more nervous about my hair.

Looking back on my first beach trip, it is completely understandable why I faced so much anxiety about putting on a swimsuit. Society had pushed me into this box that I was trying to break out of, and when I finally broke down and shaved my legs I realized how serious that box was. I didn’t feel any different with shaved legs. Hell, I doubt anyone besides my boyfriend even looked at me during the whole beach trip. But I had been so terrified to lift my arms above my head, that I avoided doing so at all costs.

Summer went on, and more and more of my friends started noticing my hair. At first, some of my closer lady friends would point out a gentle reminder that they could see some stubble, to which I would explain the experiment to them. It was always met by the same reaction: “Oh my gosh, that’s so cool! I wish I had the courage to do that!” Every one of my lady friends hated shaving. Why were we doing it?

At the end of summer, before school started up again, my nerves got the best of me again and I worried about how my colleagues would take my hairy armpits. I decided to pull a Miley Cyrus and dyed them purple, as an act of rebellion. People would love that, I thought. And they did—people everywhere loved how I was breaking down the societal norm that said women had to spend all this time and money on shaving her armpits!

Only, here’s the catch—I was still spending time and money on my armpits by constantly touching up the purple dye. I was still doing the thing that I said I didn’t want to do any more.

It had been months at this point since I had shaved my armpits, and a few weeks at least since I had shaved my legs. I decided at that point that I was not going to be doing this project for anyone’s approval but myself.

It wasn’t until I stopped dying the hair, stopped looking for people’s approval, that I started finally appreciating this project. Growing out my armpit hair doesn’t bother me, so why should I shave them? I am not any less beautiful or any less clean than I was when I was shaving daily. And after the people around me got used to it, they stopped staring too. My legs are a different story, as I tend to get ingrown hairs when I don’t shave for a while—for that reason, I shave my legs probably once a month. I don’t do this to live to some society’s standards, or to impress my boyfriend after a date. He couldn’t care less if my legs are hairy (and if your partner does, I think it’s time to find a new one).

I remember being in the fifth grade and being made fun of by the other girls in my gym class for having hairy armpits. Those girls also made fun of me for having large boobs and starting my period, though—all things that I’m thankful to have today. Why is it that puberty is something that we make young girls ashamed of? Is it healthy to tell a ten year old to take a sharp razor to her skin and scrape off all marks of human—to become a waxy, Barbie doll like figurine?

Growing my armpit hair out has made me feel entirely more empowered and in control of my body than any other project I’ve done. I encourage whoever reads this to try their own little experiment. Maybe this winter you’ll hide your stubble like I did, and maybe health reasons prevent you from growing your hair out like a jungle. But I encourage you—don’t shave because it’s all that you’ve been told your whole life. Don’t shave because you think that your partner won’t find you attractive any more. It’s hair, it’s natural, it’s human.

Let’s all celebrate being human.