I never thought I would shave my head.
My hair had always been a part of me — long, familiar, comforting. It framed my face in every photograph, moved with me in every breeze, and carried memories of years gone by.
But life has a quiet way of changing us.
It wasn’t pressure.
It wasn’t fashion.
It was a decision that grew slowly inside me.
For months, I had been holding onto things — stress, expectations, fears about what people might think. One evening, standing in front of the mirror, I realized something strange: I was afraid of change.
And that’s when the idea came.
“What if I just let go?”
The salon was quiet the next morning. As I sat in the chair, the cape wrapped around me like a boundary between the old and the new. My heart beat fast — not from regret, but from anticipation.
The first cut was the hardest. I watched a thick strand fall to the floor. It felt symbolic — like shedding a version of myself that I had outgrown.
As the buzzing razor moved across my scalp, I closed my eyes. There was a strange peace in the sound. No drama. No sadness. Just acceptance.
When it was done, I looked up.
There I was.
No hair to hide behind. No layers to soften my features. Just me.
For a second, I searched for doubt — but I couldn’t find it. Instead, I saw strength. My eyes looked clearer. My posture straighter. My smile freer.
Walking outside, the air felt different against my bare scalp. Cool. Honest. Real.
People stared. Some complimented. Some questioned.
But none of it mattered.
Because I hadn’t shaved my head to prove anything to anyone.
I shaved it to remind myself:
I am not my hair.
I am not my image.
I am not my fear.
Sometimes, transformation doesn’t begin with growing something new.
Sometimes, it begins with letting something go.