Chopping my hair- Letting go of the extra weight (HAIR TRAUMA photos)

Cutting off my hair has historically related to the end of a relationship. Once a man is out of the picture, I feel the need to lighten my load. That freedom means time to chop the hair. I have a problem in that there has been no man disappearing lately. Justin and I are just under the two year mark- my second longest relationship ever. That compounded with my history of horrid haircuts has left me with ridiculously long hair.

I haven't cut my hair in about three years. No kidding. I had so many horrible haircuts that my entire immediate family would swear under oath it's definitely true. I figure about 90% of the time they were so bad that I'd spend months after the cut fixing my hair myself with mirrors and a scissors until it was in a serviceable condition. After my last cut, I decided I was just going to give up and have a bad hair life.

My last cut was in Germany by a woman recommended by one of my cute patients with an awesome haircut. I drove into Amberg, a nearby village and met up with a German lady who had excellent English skills. I told her, "I want layers, but NO short layers in the front. (I have the waviest hair in the front and it puffs up like a mushroom if short.) So what was the first thing she did? Chop about eight inches off the front. After that first cut, I thought, shit, well may as well let her go to town, it's already a total disaster. I paid about $50-60 for a haircut which made me look like a total idiot. (The previous cut I'd had was in New Zealand I think by a guy who was used to cutting Asian hair, and also a total disaster.) This time I took a picture to show to my family. I could be a commercial.

GERMAN Lady's haircut 

(about what I normally get when I go to ANY hairdresser, on ANY continent)

After I fixed it with mirrors and my little Goody scissors. 

(Which is what normally happens after every haircut.)

    

So that is the history. I get a haircut. I pay money. I look worse. I have to look like an idiot until I decide to fix it myself.

Now I am sitting here with this long hair that takes fifteen minutes to blow dry, gets caught in my shirts, and looks generally like a Hutterite's hair. (I'm sorry if you are a Hutterite and I've offended you.) If I don't cut it soon, I'm going to have to make it into dreads and start singing on the street or run around naked like Eve and eat apples. At least then there'd be a reason for my long hair.

I've made about four appointments and rescheduled them, feeling not quite ready to chop it off. I was going to donate my hair. Then I thought, no kids with cancer actually wear wigs- what good would it do anyway? But the other day I was talking with my old friend Lourdes, and she said, "I have a friend whose daughter has Alopecia, and she had to home school her because the kids at school were so mean to her. It was so hard for them to find a wig that matched her hair- a reddish blonde." This story broke my heart, and made me realize I should donate my hair. The places who make wigs ask for hair that is chemically untreated. Which mine is. I was thinking then that most people do not actually have my hair color not from a bottle and the nice thing to do would be to give it away.

So I am again scheduled for a haircut next week. I am expecting some major life changes in the next few weeks, and I think the time to shed the extra weight is here. I know my sister Molly has donated her hair about 2-3 times in her life. She has this lovely thick, healthy dark hair, and it is so generous of her to give it away (it is a big deal to cut that much off). I'm going to follow my baby sister's lead and make a donation in time for the Christmas season, for those who need some blonde hair.