Hair-isistable.

Are you sure you want to do this?

Massive shears but a few inches away from my head, my hairdresser looked at me in the mirror, poised and ready to chop chop chop.

Heart pounding, images passing through my head about what I might look like in just a few minutes, I hesitated. Comments from friends and strangers alike echoed through my head about “no don’t cut your hair!”, my long luscious locks. This was the same hair that had become synonymous with my identity, part of what made me me.

Speaking of me, what does make me me?

Is it something as artificial as my hair, or is it more my confidence in how I wear it?

What I was about to do had nothing to do with other people, and I certainly shouldn’t have let what they say and what they think influence what I do with my body and its adornment, certainly when it comes to hair (WHICH EVENTUALLY GROWS BACK).

No. This was something I wanted to do, and it’s been something I’ve wanted to do for awhile now.

A change of scenery, a weight lifted, a hairstyle making an homage to the re-entry into the ‘20’s, a breath of fresh “hair.” Yes, I was sure I wanted to do this.

Because you see, aside from all the benefits I would feel from a sudden change in style, I was also doing it for someone else.

I don’t know them, I will likely never know them, but I’m hoping that someday someone who actually needs my hair will have it. I’ve donated to Locks of Love before, (this would be my third time), and it was one of the main instigators in my desire for change. It’s the season of giving and if someone else can benefit from my mane (and not complain about it 80% of the time like I do), then it’s well worth it.

As I sat in the hairdresser’s chair, a nervous smile spread across my face and I finally gave her the go ahead.

Hair parted into two thick ponytails, I sat in anticipation as the scissors made their way across my hair that had been with me for so long. Hair that I had wrapped in bun after bun in frustration, hair that my mom had so lovingly brushed for me when I was younger, and hair that I relished when I took off my bra at the end of the day, beautiful mermaid hair covering up my chest.

And in under 2 minutes, it was all gone, off to someone who undoubtedly needs it more than I.

A physical weight has been lifted from my shoulders since then and as cheesy as it is to admit, I feel younger, lighter, and free. While I know having short hair again will take some getting used to, I do find the new look to be most…

hair-isistable.