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I Should’ve Cut My Hair A Long A** Time Ago

I admittedly have a problem with holding onto things..

In kindergarten, I locked myself in a unisex stall and cried all throughout recess because these three girls that I had thought I made friends with ditched me once they saw me making other friends.

In 5th grade, I spent the last day of school with my face buried into my palms after [the same group of girls] gave me the silent treatment once they found out I was moving to the suburbs. It hurt. And I couldn’t let that part of it go. updated edit: (How ridiculous in retrospect, I know!)

In fact, until I recently invested in a therapist (I highly recommend it, btw), I would still painfully reminisce on those memories anytime I struggled with letting go of a toxic friendship, a poor romance, a job loss…anything hurtful. It’s no surprise to me that I held onto a head of dead and damaged hair until I finally decided to let that sh*t go!


My hands shook in the barber’s chair. I knew that I wanted to see a barber because every hair stylist I stalked on Instagram and contacted didn’t seem to understand how certain I was that I wanted my hair cut.

“No, but are you sureeeee? Because once it’s gone..”

I get it – it’s gone.

I needed an extra push to go ahead and do it already. No amount of photos on Pinterest of these blissfully happy, bald-headed women would settle my nerves. Still, I walked into my local barbershop and simply said, “I want to cut it all off. Maybe a little higher at the top. Maybe a side part. But definitely all off.” And all I heard in return was, “No problem. Have a seat.” And it was on.

I watched two years worth of depression drop to the ground that day – alongside chronic stress, crippling anxiety and too much heat damage to properly repair. I used to witness clumps of my hair slide into my shower drain plenty of times. I would also see strands just break at the ends while I struggled to twist and set my hair at night. But watching my hair fall down that apron that day did something for me: it relinquished me from my worries.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t need to worry about how much my next weave would cost me or how long I would have to sit in the next chair to install my block braids or how I could disguise my already thinning hair. In fact, when the barber turned the chair around so I could face the mirror, my only worry was which angle I wanted my next selfie because all I could see was FACE. I saw a relieved face. I saw a relaxed face. I saw a rejuvenated face… And I should’ve seen that face a long a** time ago.




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