Cutting my hair taught me self-love

Whenever I needed to get my hair done, I would end up in a bad mood. My hair was not something that excited me. It was a problem; something that I needed to fix, so that I could get on with the rest of my life.

So I decided to cut it all off.

As a black woman living in Vancouver, my hair has always been something I’ve struggled with. I’ve never quite felt that my hair was my own. Rather, my hair has been something for other people to stare at, to touch, or to comment on.

There are so many different expectations that people have for how a black woman’s hair should look. It should be neat; it should be straight; it should be tamed. Because of this, For many years, no one outside my close family and friends has seen my real hair.

My hair has been hidden away under countless ‘protective’ styles. Wigs, extensions, braids, you name it. While these styles do protect my hair from harsh Canadian weather that it’s not used to, I have to admit that for the most part, I chose these styles so that I would not have to deal with my hair.

But, protective styles require a lot of time and can be expensive. Braids can take from 6-12 hours to get done, ranging from about $150-500 dollars, and good quality wigs can cost thousands of dollars. As such, getting my hair done became more of a chore and a huge bill to pay.

Soon enough, I detested it. And I wanted it gone.

For months, I contemplated cutting my hair. But naturally, I was scared of what people would say. How was I going to go from the woman who wore long, straight wigs, which most people assumed was my real hair, to a woman with a buzz cut?

On a random wednesday, when my hair frustration was at its peak, I grabbed my tote bag and got on the bus to my local hair salon. “Chop it all off,” I told the barber as I sat in the chair. The clipper buzzing, I stared at myself in the mirror, as my chopped hair dropped to the floor, like leaves falling off a tree in autumn.

And like the leaves of the tree that are reborn when it’s spring, I felt reborn with all of my hair gone. Finally, I felt like my hair was mine. I felt free. I felt happy. And I was in love.

I now love taking care of my hair. I love washing, moisturizing, and brushing it. I love the way my short hair looks on my head. I love the way it frames my face. I love the way the breeze blows on my scalp as I walk down the street. I LOVE it.

Cutting my hair allowed me to find a missing piece of myself that was lost for a very long time. Yes, people still stare, but I don’t care anymore. I don’t care because I made the conscious decision to cut my hair, and no one can take that away from me. I am no longer letting what people think determine my hair style, rather I am doing whatever I want with my hair because it’s mine.

In cutting my hair, I found love. So I say: take the risk; do the thing; listen to yourself. Do what you want. Remember that you are the driver of your own life, and do not let anybody take that away from you.