Hiding Behind Hair
It has been several years since I last let someone approach my hair with a pair of scissors. I like to tell myself that it just hasn’t crossed my mind, or that I just hadn’t noticed how long my hair has become, but in the back of my mind, I know it is a lie. In the past year or so, I’ve starting thinking about how long it is, how icky the ends are getting (people say they don’t notice when I bring It up, but I always seem to notice even the tiniest frayed ends). Several time a month, the thought “damn, I need a haircut”, pops into my head, but I quickly dismiss the idea, citing not enough time, and that I don’t know any good places in my area for getting my hair done. I’ve begun to think that my problem is that my hair at its current length provides a sort of safety net for me. I can wear it down, and hide behind it, have it frame my face, as if that will somehow miraculously make me look ten times better. Nevermind that for convenience’s sake, I always wear it up anyway, at least I have the option of letting it down if I want to.
When I was younger, every six months (except for that one year in 4th grade, I let it grow) I’d get my hair chopped off into a cute little, chin-length bob. I never really though about my hair at that age, because I never considered it an extension of self, as I seem to now, but also, because I had less of an awareness of the differences between myself and the other children (note that I said less; I’ve always felt like, and been, the fat kid, but the self-esteem issues didn’t really hit me until later in life). Then, in highschool, I started to put on more weight. From my freshman to senior year, I put on about 100 pounds, I think (I’ve never bothered calculating it out, but it sounds about right). I current have my suspicions that it was due to a one-two punch of PCOS (which I know I have) and BED(which I think I may have), but I can’t say for sure, since I’d never even heard of BED until falling into the fatosphere on accident several months ago. But anyhow, I digress. I started letting my hair grow in highschool, and it hasn’t been shorter than shoulder length since.
My hair is not long by many peoples’ standards, as it only hits just under my chest, but for me, it feels like it might as well be down to the floor. But this Friday, I’m done with excuses. I figure the only way to get myself over this is to treat it with shock therapy. I will shock myself into accepting the fat that I have a fat face, and it’s fabulous. I’m chopping it off to about 1-2 inches. It will be the shortest my hair has been since birth. I am excited, yet nervous. Right now, I figure, if I totally hate it, it’s not like I can’t put on a hat, and it will grow back eventually. If it’s a mistake, I’ll learn from it. But right now, I’m ready for a change, and ready to stop hiding myself.
