As some of you know, I recently cut all my hair off. Because … for reasons, we will go into that later. Before we discuss my emotional attachment to my hair, I would like to talk about my Hair Past. I wore pig tails until 6th grade. Mind you, my hair was pretty much at my behind, but the pigtails + the Big Ass Coke Bottle Glasses weren’t really helping me in the “Oh, She looks cool,” department. Because my mother wouldn’t let me wear my hair any other way.
Finally, I rebelled and demanded to wear my hair down. I’m that girl who had a standing hair appointment on Saturdays. My life was scheduled around my trip to Mrs. Trent’s house. I was also the girl who had to wear rollers every night, because I wasn’t allowed to use heat on my hair until high school. Of course, that didn’t always work out very well on special occasions.
Yes, my life was hard. Can you imagine walking around looking like that for the first 17 years of your life?!?! Thank GAWD for college. I was on my own, no more hair dresser and curling iron every morning. I had to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my hair all on my own. One day, I had to run out of the shower, cuz I was late for class, and I forgot to put my hair in a ponytail. I had put the Paul Mitchell Foaming Pomade in, but for some reason forgot the ponytail. People kept telling me, I like your hair like that. I was like, ‘Wait, huh? I forgot my ponytail?!?!’ This is the day I found out my hair was naturally curly. This is also the day I “Went Natural’.
In March of 2005 or 2006, my Uncle passed away. I couldn’t handle it. I had to do something that made a statement about the loss I was feeling. So I cut all my hair off for the first time.
Because of my awesomely tight curl pattern, I had to get a relaxer for the first time. And I’m special, so I had to get one every time I went to get my hair done (by the youngest daughter of my original hair dresser). Which was once a week, because I never quite mastered sleeping on my hands so I don’t mess up my hair. Eventually, getting my hair done once a week became too expensive, and I ‘Went Natural’ again.
The ‘Fro only worked when my hair was all the same length. The lopsided fro got old quickly. So back to curly I went. Sometimes, I would get braids, just to change my look. My favorite hair is the ghetto ass Kalekalon (sp) 1b/33, then you boil it so you get wavy braids. It’s sexy, don’t front.
Around August of 2010, I had another emotional breakdown of sorts. Life in AZ wasn’t quite working out how I was expecting it to, and the former love of my life had turned into the world’s largest asshole. I couldn’t cope . . . So the Hair had to Go. There are two things in life you have control over. The two things people can give you advice on, but they can’t control. Hair . . . and food. Funny how I learned later that those are the two things I used to gain control of difficult situations.
At the not so subtle suggestion of Lord Voldemort, I decided to grow my hair out. At this point, it didn’t really matter to me what my hair looked like. So sure, bangs sounded like a good idea. Sure, I should totally leave my hair straight on a regular basis (0_o) But we don’t judge.
The moment I moved back home, I planned on cutting my hair. It was going to stop me from working out everyday if it was straight, and it’s just a pain in the ass to keep up. I know all the products to use, have the greatest flat iron in the world (Solia for the WIN), but I’m lazy. But my mom was just so excited that my hair was longer than it had been since high school. So long it was.
But the stress of my current job had me feeling out of control. You try dealing with other people’s trauma and drama for 9-10 hours a day, and accept that whatever you do won’t quite be enough. I felt myself slipping. I had to do something to get myself back on track. So I walked into the salon my home hair dresser worked in, and said, CUT IT ALL OFF.
He was PISSED. He was like, “I like your hair long. You look better with long hair.” But I manned up, and looked him in the eye. “Cut it, or I’ll find someone else who will.” I took the entire weekend to be able to look in the mirror and know it was me, and not some weird other chick. But I Love It. I’m embracing not hiding behind my hair, and forcing myself to see ME. The Scar on my forehead, the uneven skin-tone around my eyes, and the nose that always flairs when I try to take a Selfie.
So That’s my Story. What’s yours?