Have you ever had an idea or vision of yourself, then you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror or in a photograph and you’re shocked? You look nothing like you thought or felt?
This has been my struggle for the last few weeks.
Last fall, I shave my mane of lilac-purple hair, which I loved, to support a friend. It’s just hair, I thought. It’ll grow back. I anticipated that there’d be an adjustment period. After all, electric hair is so “me”. It’s as much a part of me as my personality. It defined me. I just didn’t know how much.
When I first shaved my head, I wore a lot of hats (Bald heads are cold!!) Based on my new shiny noggin, I stopped wearing some of my favourite clothing – I thought I looked ridiculous. Just give me a tambourine and let me fundraise on a corner, I thought. In all my moment of self-depricating humour and self doubt, I held on to the fact that my hair would grow back and, while it was growing, it’d get used to the change. I didn’t.
As it grows, I’ve been feeling less and less fabulous – which really pisses me off! After all, I’ve worked through my own shit. I feel fabulous a lot. I know how to turn self-doubt into motivation. I so thought I was past all that crap. But it reared its ugly head (literally). My short hair pushed on some big wounds.
It all came to a head (ha!) when my new head shots arrived. I was so excited about getting them. I opened the folder with a smile and anticipation. After seeing just two, I full-out cried. And cried. And cried. Those tears stayed with me for about two days. My reaction was huge and I am still putting the pieces together.
This is what I know for sure: It’s not about the hair. It’s a deeper wound. I hid behind my hair and clothes for years. I wowed people with my bold look so they wouldn’t have to see ME. I was so terrified of blending into a crowd that I made sure I stood out. Sure, I was always noticed, but the real me was hidden. Those long purple tresses were my camouflage.
The truth is this: Shaving my head messed with me. Trying to date and feeling insecure messes with me. Showing up and being confident when I’m feeling low inside messes with me. So I have two options: (1) let self doubt win or (2) kick it to the curb.
I choose #2.
So I looked in the mirror, let out a big “Fuck! I’m done with this shit!” and am confidently rocking my short grey mane. Because I am amazing. I am smart. I am strong. I am pretty. And most importantly I am enough.