Apparently I deal with big emotional shit through my hair.
The last time I cut my hair myself was in the early 1990s. I was 20 years old and had finally untangled myself from a three-year emotionally abusive relationship with a man ~20 years my senior (I KNOW…gag). The relationship was textbook control and manipulation. For example, calculated criticism when I ate paired with “praise” when I lost weight ("You're starting to look good") resulted in an eating disorder that led me to lose 20 pounds in a summer (in the photo above, only a year into this three-year relationship, I was becoming skeletal under my intentionally baggy clothes). Caustic comments about what I wore and my hair being too short made me change my clothing and grow my hair down to my waist. Relentless barbs towards my family and friends planted seeds of bitterness that sprouted and made me treat people I cared about undeservedly harshly. Suicide threat calls ("I'm swallowing this bottle of pills now if you don't [insert threat]") and comments about what he was capable of ("I have guns under my bed and have great aim") kept me tethered and fearful. Random, unpredictable moments of not-meanness left me wondering whether I was crazy and overacting. Collectively, the relationship left me insecure, angry, scared, exhausted, paranoid, and questioning my worth.
When I finally found my way out (I told him to stop calling me or I would find a way to kill him myself, even if it landed me in jail), I was still wrestling with plenty of emotional and mental demons, but the one thing I felt definitive, immediate control over was my hair…the hair that hung at my waistline because of him. So I chopped it all off. It was incredibly freeing.
[In case you're wondering, this person continued to stalk me and play mind games--largely through the USPS--for well over a decade following our final phone call. This person was seriously unwell.]
And then after the big 1990s chop my hair became fun. I experimented with different cuts in my 20s. I tried color for the first time in my 30s. And in my 40s I embraced my ability to opt for a top-tier hair dude, spend a lot of money once a year on balayage, and style my own hair on the regular. With joy!
Until I cut it on my own this past Sunday. In under two minutes. With a pair of dog scissors. On video (link below).
Here's the thing: Over the past 6 months I have been carrying some serious insecurity and doubt about myself. Not in the bad, legitimately dangerous way of that horrible ex (I am in the most wonderful loving and supportive relationship now), but what I have been wrestling with has needled me via various triggers just like my abusive boyfriend used to needle me. I usually have very strong gut feelings about things, but ghosting, comments about my worth, and rejection got me so firmly stuck in my head that I couldn't tune into my gut at all. And it made it difficult for me to fully celebrate good things happening for other people…which is basically the opposite of who I strive to be.
I didn't set out to cut my hair as a way to let go of these feelings. Quite frankly, I was mostly pissed off because I follow my hair dude on Instagram and he had just posted a picture of his oversized indoor Christmas gathering (OMG WHY?!). But as I cheerfully shared my haircutting video on social media with the hashtag #zerofucksgiven I realized, yes, this really is about letting go of all these shitty feelings from the past 6 months and moving on. I have no shortage of good projects and people to lean into; why do I keep perseverating on the toxic?
If you're carrying toxicity, know that you deserve to free yourself of it. Your symbolic gesture need not involve dog scissors and fistfuls of hair but symbolic acts can be helpful in turning a corner. As we move out of Dumpster Fire 2020 and into a new year of possibility, I wish you enormous, abundant love. You are most definitely enough; you are the only you.
