I remember the moment I realized that being a girl had its disadvantages. And no, that’s not what I’m talking about…that moment would come a few years later. I was seven, and I was having a wrestling match with my hair, and I was losing badly. For the life of me, I could not figure out how to put my hair back in a ponytail. I know…tragic, right? But it was to me at the time. My hair was halfway down my back, and I wanted it in a ponytail like the other girls at school. My older sister was great about fixing my hair for me, but I was in the second grade and wanted to be self-sufficient, and I wasn’t going to leave that mirror until I had conquered it. I remember my little sister laughing at me because she already knew how to do it AND could also French braid her own hair. It took three hours. I put it in a ponytail, but the hair kept escaping. I thought about how much I hated being a girl.

Fast forward to age ten. I wasn’t yet in middle school but was about to enter that arena and noticed that all the girls had perms. I wanted a perm. The long straight hair with unnecessarily high bangs wasn’t working for me anymore. Over the several years, I would get eight more perms. Eight, people! Why didn’t anyone tell me that a poodle perm on a 4’10” frame wasn’t attractive? I was in the tenth grade when I knew that I was done with perms, but my hair was so badly damaged from the multiple treatments that I cut it all off…as a new beginning.

I got to college, and straight long hair was back again so I let it grow. It was healthy again and I didn’t mind having pictures taken nearly as much. I would go in to a salon to have it periodically trimmed, but one fateful day forever changed how I viewed hair. Apparently, my hairdresser was having a bad day because she was distracted. I listened to the girl next to me ask her hairdresser to “cut it all off, all the way to her ears.” Oh, someone ended up with short hair all the way to her ears alright! I recognize that mistakes happen, but I was traumatized by how badly she had butchered my hair, And I cried. Oh, how I cried. But when I stopped crying, I vowed to myself that I would never again cry over something as stupid as hair. It was a Samson moment. I had become vain. Hair doesn’t define a person, but I had developed a warped sense of pride over how I looked and it needed to stop.

Over the years, I have changed hairstyles more than I can count. The moment my hair becomes high maintenance or a point of pride, I change it. A couple of weeks ago, I left my curling iron in a hotel and was too lazy to buy another one. For the past week, I’ve not done anything to it, and it’s just been irritating to spend any amount of time blow-drying it. So, off with the hair. It felt freeing to get rid of it all.

Freeing for me, at least. I am always surprised by others’ responses to my hair cut. In addition to the nice ones, I get the “Why did you do that???What does your husband think of it?? What will people at work think?? It was so beautiful! Do you know how many people would kill to have your hair???” See…that’s just too much hoopla over hair. I did it because I wanted to free up time in the morning. As for my husband, he’s more than fine with whatever hairstyle I have. (The key is marrying someone who doesn’t value you for how you look. It’s a sucker’s bet to do otherwise.)And those at work? Hmmm...I can guarantee that any conversations about my haircut will reduce productivity so..let's just not talk about it. And as for other people who would kill to have long hair…I’m sorry if that’s the case. It’s just hair. If I’m not traumatized by it, you shouldn’t be either.

What do you think? Not “what do you think about my hair,” but what do you think of hair, being a girl, life in general…?