Can I let you in on a secret?
I have hair issues.
Not the normal “it’s this drab color when in my heart I’m a striking redhead/blonde/brunette” or “it’s too fine/too thin/too coarse.” Not even the evergreen lament “it’s straight/curly and I want it curly/straight.”
By and large, I’m happy with my “birth” hair and I like feeling free to mix it up on occasion. If only “free” were what I really felt!
My issue is that other people’s opinions about my hair way weigh far too heavily on my decision making process. A cut is rarely just a cut for me. It’s an occasion for guerrilla warfare in my brain.
Earlier this week, I got my first hair cut in three years. I’d been growing it out for a while before that, too, so by the time I sat my butt in a hairstylist’s chair, the ends of my hair nearly reached my tailbone. I was excited to take the plunge for something new and happy to be able to donate to Wigs for Kids.
But man, the months and weeks leading up to this particular But In Chair experience were treacherous.
I live with a voice in my head that tells me I look better with, and should only have, short hair. The edict was planted between my ears in my teens and I’ve never successfully exorcised it. Sometimes the voice takes on the persona of a loved one or a friend. This cast of personae constantly informs me that my long hair is a mess, that it isn’t professional, that it’s not my “best look.” I always try to counter those voices with “but I like it” and “I’m having fun with it.”
I hated the idea of giving into the negative Nelly holding my the look of my hair hostage, so stubborn cuss that I am, I put off making the appointment for months even though I WANTED to get my hair cut.
How screwy is that?
I’ll tell you something screwier. I posted these same pictures to Facebook so my friends could follow my progress. As of this writing, the “final result” photo has received 184 likes – I think more than any other picture I’ve posted to my timeline. Guess what Nelly is whispering to me now? Right. A nasty version of “see, we told you so.”
Gah! Vexing, to say the least.
So tell me, do you have a tender spot your lizard brain likes to menace or, better, ways you combat it?