Hair

I got a haircut today.

A pixie. Not my first but definitely shorter than my norm.

I don't like it.

I was halfway through the cut before I remembered I had scheduled family pictures for Monday. I told myself and the hairdresser that it would be okay.

It's not okay.

She cut it and left it wet because that's what I normally do. I came home and took a shower and loaded up on product.

When it finally dried...it was like a helmet.

I know this but I did it anyway. I have very curly hair. It doesn't style like straight hair.

Why???

I normally can self-talk through most hair cuts but the looming family portrait in three days broke me.

I cried.

The only thing I can conclude on why I am so upset is the reminder of my kindergarten picture. My mother chopped my hair just before starting kindergarten. I thought I looked liked a boy. I hated it.

I also look old. There's no where to hide. I hate my curl this short. The list goes on.

I told myself to be strong; show your girls how to be strong no matter what you look like.

I can't.

I cancelled the pictures. I've been fat and skinny. Glasses and contacts. Dressed up and down. Nothing has affected me the way this has.

It's too close to my heart. It's the next hurdle to more freedom of my identity. Breaking my dependence on vanity.

It's taken years to come this far. I'm not there yet. But I've come so far.