Just a Trim….
“A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.”
We all know someone who has had the same hairstyle for eons and wham they change it. It usually is a red flashing light that something major happened or is about to happen.
For the record I am that person.
There is also a joke about every woman having a red hair phase… yup.
My reality is a lot is changing in my life and cutting my hair short has been something I wanted to do for awhile.
A conversation about me not ever changing my hair kinda got me here.
To be clear I’ve been sporting an undercut bob like haircut for the last two years so I’m not afraid of short hair.
Except I am.
The unfortunate reality is while we ooh and aah when a celebrity goes for a chop, we feel compelled to say please don’t give me a “Mom cut” or cut it too short.
Like it or not, our appearance and our hair inadvertently can become our calling card.
For me the reality is I have incredibly fine hair. It gets to a certain length and it stops growing. It is stick straight. Every morning I torture myself for almost twenty minutes trying to convince it to be something it’s not.
As a lady who likes to wear makeup that’s twenty minutes I could do that.
So I consulted with my trusted circle, I compiled some pictures and I scheduled my appointment.
As I type this, it is day two with hair that is maybe two inches long at its longest. I can’t stop touching it, it’s so soft. The color looks better and the irony is I didn’t have to wear mascara because my eyes pop.
It still is an adjustment and this morning while brushing my teeth I looked in the mirror and was a bit shook at the lack of hair around my face.
I got compared to Charlize Theron today which I’ll take.
It’s not an accurate comparison but I’ll take it.
I wish I had done this sooner. I wish I had not been so worried about something that grows back. There are bigger things to worry about. Although as a person who lives in the Midwest, I do now worry about always having a hat.
My hair doesn’t make me any less. Any less of a Mom. Any less of a friend. Any less of a teacher.
I just have less hair. As with everything I acknowledge I am still learning to leave self doubt at the door or in that suitcase under my bed.
My point Mommas, don’t let a haircut define you. Let you define you.
At the end of the day that’s what really matters.