When I was 12 I wanted a pixie cut. You know, cute, short and risky. Well my hair dresser gave me a bob. And I hated it. I totally hated it. I felt awkward and worse, little. People actually assumed I was my age instead of several years older. For a 12 year old who was already the youngest in her friend group and family, it felt like the worst thing ever.

Yes that liner was for my peacock costume.

So I grew my hair out. I let it grow grow grow. Slowly but surely, as my hair grew out people would guess I was a little older. More people would talk to me or ask me to dance at social events. Granted, it probably had more to do with the fact that I was older, started wearing makeup, and got my braces off; however, it felt like it was because my hair was longer. About a year and a half ago, I finally considered my hair “long”. And I didn’t want to change it. A sense of security came with my long hair. It was part of me. It was a strange status to have: “the one with long hair”. I felt empowered by it. I could look at other people and think I wish I had this or that of theirs, and then think “but I have longer hair”.

A lot changes in 4 years. Yes it was quite possible that it was me that became more interesting and less awkward and not my hair. I started to realize this. And then I realized that I was letting my hair control me. I was making it too much a part of me. Making it an excuse to put down others. Making it an excuse to make myself feel better. Because my growing up processes including growing out my hair, I felt connected to it. So I started thinking of cutting it.

But still I didn’t want to look younger. And then one day I thought about it and realized that I didn’t care if I looked my age or younger. I don’t care if my other hair cut was better. It was time for something new.

I’m having wayyy too much fun with it. Pretty spiffy curled too, eh?