A year ago, my scanty, wavy, frizzy hair became smooth and silky and straight, thanks to a salon treatment i opted for. It felt strange - a strangeness that was abetted by the compliments that came my way from people who mattered. Everyone seemed to love it - well, almost. The strongest voice of disapproval came from my teenage daughter - all of 13 and an amazing young lady - she felt my hair had lost character and the new look made me, well, not me.
And it was just her constant asking me when i would look "normal" that bothered me. What also bothered me was the amount of chemicals that i seemed to now douse my hair with - chemicals to hold the look just a bit longer, chemicals to maintain the sheen, and the chemicals made me feel confident as much as they made my hair feel abused. In my mind, i seemed to fit the much accepted norm of how professional women ought to look. It was almost as if, my qualification, my competence, my skill were all accentuated by the myth of what perfect hair is supposed to be.
It's been a year now. I have given up on the chemicals so now its a strange combination of wavy and straight and strangely stiff and frizzy - its as if, my hair finally decided to voice her protest. While I don't blame my hair, i do feel a sense of shame, a deep shame when I look into the mirror.
In a way, the hair seems to symbolize my femininity and with it, a reminder of how much time i took to accept what is and drop the ideals of perfection. At this point of time in my life, as I am working on letting go, of being more accepting of myself, my needs, I cant even remember what I used to look like before i got this hair treatment done. Just like I don't even know where to begin as a drop the mask of "good wife" and reclaim myself and work out a different way of relating with family.
At this stage, the idea of shaving my head is very tempting - curious as I am about what might then emerge in the new me. I am also petrified as to how much of me would get exposed in this simple act. The thought of how long it would take before my hair grew to any length that is "feminine" and acceptable is frankly quite frightening.
Never before was it this obvious to me - how much of my identity of being a woman, of beauty is tied to my hair. A few months ago, a good friend shared how her teenage daughter went and shaved her head to challenge her own notions of beauty. And as i stand gazing at my reflection, seeing my frizzy, greying, scanty hair peek from underneath, I whisper a prayer that i may connect to that fearless, bold energy in me. And in this tiny act of courage, let go of some of the shame i hold about my female body.
