I didn’t do it for charity. I didn’t do it for a trend. I didn’t even do it because I had to. I shaved my head simply because I wanted to.
That might sound radical to some. Hair has always been tied to identity, femininity, tradition. We're taught from a young age that long, flowing hair is something to treasure, maintain, protect. For years, I believed that too—until one day I asked myself why. Why am I holding on to something that feels more like a mask than an expression?
The thought of shaving my head didn’t come out of nowhere. It lingered in the back of my mind for months, maybe even years. I admired bald women—confident, striking, unapologetically themselves. They made boldness look effortless. Still, I hesitated. I wondered how people would react. What my family would say. Whether I would still feel like “me” without the layers of hair I’d always used to frame my face.
And then, one morning, I woke up and decided I was done waiting.
There was no ceremony. No live stream. Just me, a mirror, and the buzzing sound of the clippers. As each lock fell, I didn’t feel fear—I felt relief. Lightness. Like I was peeling off something that no longer fit.
I looked into the mirror afterward, half-expecting to feel regret. But instead, I saw something new: clarity. No distractions, no hiding. Just me—raw, real, and strangely radiant. I smiled. Not out of politeness or habit, but from somewhere deeper. That smile felt earned.
The reactions from others were a mixed bag. Some people applauded me. Others asked if I was okay, or what had “happened.” A few strangers looked away awkwardly, unsure of how to place me without my hair. But the most surprising response came from people who said, “I wish I had the courage to do that.”