I had a vision for how it would be. It seemed like a good time for such a bold step, what with starting a new decade and everything. I knew if I was strong, I could get...there. The other side. The land of the un-banged.
I held on for weeks, even when I desperately wanted to cut. I’d catch sight of myself in a mirror and say “I can do this.” I’d see women on buses, on the street, in restaurants. If they were doing it, so could I. I would show my forehead. I would grow out my bangs.
I was learning a new way of looking, and being looked at, that didn’t involve peeping and hiding, ducking and tossing. I felt clear-eyed. Exposed. Brave.
But this morning, I was weak. I saw the silver gleam of the barber shears, there in the shadows of the bathroom cabinet. And I caved.
Oh my God, I feel so much better. I feel like I can get on with my life.