Cutting My Hair Set Me Free
My extra-long locks were a symbol of ownership and dominance, which is why I chopped my tailbone-touching mane
I used to be the Girl With The Pretty Long Hair. I got compliments all the time. Strangers stroked my hair and commented on how beautiful it was. They gushed that if they had hair like mine, they would never, ever dare to cut it.
When I casually let it slip that I might hack off the dead ends at some point, they gasped. When I mentioned I sometimes consider buzzing it down to my scalp, they clutched their chests and and exclaimed, “Why, if I had beautiful hair like that, I couldn’t bring myself to part with it!” Inside, I would retort, “Never? Not even if it emotionally killed you when you saw or touched it?”
They didn’t know my story. I didn’t know theirs. People give unsolicited advice about everything under the sun, and my hair was no exception. Still, it struck a nerve. My long locks have been with me through hell, and they managed to avoid getting singed to the root.
Recently, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I had my tailbone-grazing mane lopped to shoulder length, and it was the best choice I could have possibly made. I only wish I did it sooner.
