There were times when I couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy watching my friends effortlessly switch up their hairstyles, while I remained attached to my long, familiar locks. Over the years, my hair morphed into more than just a style; it became a part of my identity. My natural hair conveyed to the world that I was easy-going yet feminine, traditional yet adventurous. I was the type who wouldn’t leap off a bridge just because everyone else was. A new haircut meant a potential shift in how others perceived me, and possibly how I viewed myself—a change that terrified me.
As I approach my 40th birthday this summer, I find this milestone is prompting me to reevaluate everything in my life. I’ve changed in countless ways, and it finally struck me that my hair should reflect that transformation. So, after nearly four decades of $15 trims every six months, I decided it was time for a real haircut.
I entered the salon with a clear vision: a single dark red streak framing my face. It felt daring and adventurous—a manifestation of the break from tradition I sensed within me. My stylist, a lovely lady named Sarah, listened carefully and suggested some alternatives. “What if we add several streaks instead? And I think caramel would complement your complexion better than red.” After four hours and a $120 bill, I walked out with dark hair adorned with blonde highlights.
My children were thrilled, and my husband was satisfied. Yet, I felt miserable. I had aimed for my hair to mirror my evolving self, but I ended up looking like a completely different person. Maybe I just needed time to adjust—perhaps other opinions would help. I shared a photo on social media and received fifty likes and twenty kind comments in a matter of hours. Flattering, yes, but I still felt uncertain. Maybe a good night’s sleep would change how I felt.
That night, I had a peculiar dream: I was pregnant, and my stomach was transparent. Inside, I saw a little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. Panic set in; this girl couldn’t possibly be mine! Yet, everyone around me insisted she was beautiful. Upon waking, the dream lingered in my mind alongside the lingering scent of hair dye. I reluctantly shuffled to the bathroom, still groggy, and caught my reflection.
In that moment, I knew I had to make a change. I immediately booked a follow-up appointment. Sarah didn’t seem surprised when I returned. “I had a feeling you’d be back. Your hair looks lovely, but it just doesn’t feel like you, does it?” She was spot on. Even with my recent changes, my highlighted hair didn’t align with who I was. Sure, it made me look polished and put-together, like one of those stylish moms at the gym (where I’m not a member) or the cosmetics store (that I can’t afford). It was beautiful, but it wasn’t me.
Fortunately, Sarah graciously reverted my hair back to its original shade, free of charge. Now, it’s dark again, just like it always was. Yet, with the right light, hints of magenta and auburn peek through, blending seamlessly with my usual brown locks. It feels simple yet magical—grounded yet daring—much like how I perceive myself inside.
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In summary, embracing change can be both liberating and intimidating. My journey with my hair reflects a deeper exploration of who I am. Sometimes, it takes a leap of faith—or a haircut—to realize what truly resonates with us.
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