I started to hate my hair today. It got long over the few months and I simply started to despise it. I was almost on the verge to shave it all off. I cried for an hour hating myself. Would that be an indication of my meltdown? My breakdown? I settled on a trim. I sprinted out of the bathroom with wet hair and scissors in hand and took the first slice without regret in front of a mirror in the bedroom. My wife cleaned up the back.
My hair looks like a mess but I don’t care. The haircut made me feel better; it made a difference in how I related to my hair. How I related to myself. That tiny trim made it all better, relieved some form of discomfort and hate about myself. Maybe I simply needed a change and this was the change I was in control of. My hair, the something I’m in control of if nothing else.