It’s just a week short of 2 months since I cut my hair. When I look at my reflection, I no longer have to stare for a minute or longer to process ‘wow, that’s really me.’ Today, the girl staring back — or is she a woman, now?— is still a curious figure, but I like her vibe. As I’d hope, walking in this new hair has taught me quite a bit about womanhood and life in general. I thought I’d share…
(You’ll also see I snuck in more photos from my awesome shoot with Tonjanika Smith Photography).
Women cut their hair everyday. And yet, I bet most of those women felt they had participated in some new, revolutionary act that had never been done before. One hand pressed against heart’s center, and the other with a fist full of newly chopped locs held in the air. That’s what the process felt like for me. Cutting my hair was my personal mini-revolution, and as overplayed as that sounds, I’ll accept that it was my story.
I look in the mirror and give a hurried tug at my twist-out in prep for the most rudimentary length check you could imagine. The hair by my ears falls a few inches past my collar bone, the hair at the back stretches to a couple inches above my bra strap, and the hair in the front is a few centimeters beyond my chin. Noted. Assessment? It’s growing. And it doesn’t feel too dry. (That’s important).