Two out of three ain't bad

I am struggling with my hair.

Right now, it is the longest it has been in over 20 years.

And I'm feeling compelled to cut it.

When I say this out loud, I get two different reactions.

Some tell me to not cut it, as they like it long

Others encourage me to go for a chop

My paralysis over what to do with it has led me to not have a hair appointment in nearly 6 months

Part of the reason I am struggling When I was researching all of the facets of weight loss surgery, all of the possible side effects, etc, the one that made me waver in my decision to have the surgery was the possibility of hair loss

I was terrified of losing my hair along with the excess poundage

Very vain of me, particularly since, looking at the variety of hairstyles and colors I have had over the years, it does not look like I ever vain about how my hair looked. The perm I sported in junior high or the few weeks I walked around with unintentionally neon pink hair give weight to that theorem.

However, once my weight blossomed out of control, my hair became the one thing that made me feel pretty. Strangers would compliment me on how healthy it looked, how pretty is was, etc...those comments made me feel less monstrous. I felt at ease that some part of me was considered lovely.

Now I'm at a place where I don't necessarily need the reassurance that something about me is worthy of praise

As I know I'm more than just pretty hair

Yet, I feel like some perverse Samson, that my strength will be taken away from me if I dare to cut a centimeter of my hair off. That anything beautiful about me will disappear as my locks are shortened.

On my good days I know that is not the case.

On my bad days, I hide my face behind my hair

It's just hair though. Logically, I know this.

My identity, my self worth, the essence that is me is not intrinsically linked to the strands growing out of my scalp.

I am not known as Darcey with the Good Hair

Out of all the ways people have labelled me, that is not among them

Thankfully, my hair survived the weight loss surgery. My most feared side effect did not not materialize.

Funnily enough, there are times I'd trade the worst side effect I got stricken with for thinner hair.

So now, I sit, playing mindlessly with my hair, as I look at pictures of cuts I am tempted to try out

I relish the moments that little girls in the church nursery play with my hair and think there is no way I could disappoint them by cutting it

Yet, I know it's just hair

I know people like me for more than my hair

In the grand scheme of things, since I still have friends who knew me during the perm years, there are multiple reasons to like me beyond my hair

But I think of the girl-woman who weighed so close to 300 pounds, who squeezed herself into girdles, who tried so hard to make herself look like what society told her was acceptable, even though it was a losing battle, who would soothe herself with food, how she clung to the rare compliments she got about her appearance. Which were always about her hair.

So, cutting off my hair would be another step in my recovery, showing I am not that girl-woman anymore

Even though there are multitudes of ways I have shown I am no longer her

Until I go to sit in the stylist's chair, I'm goign to struggle with this

As it's become apparent to me that my hair is no longer just hair to me

I look in the mirror and I try to see all that is good there and I usually end up focusing on my hair, as on my dark days, it becomes the only thing I like about my appearance

For someone who has lost so much weight, for someone who has gained so much love for herself, I still look in the mirror and think "you've got a long way to go"

So I struggle. And feel foolish.

As after all, it is just hair.

And I am loved by the One who matters, irregardless if I shave it all off.

So I cling to that knowledge, when I can't see the good in myself, when I look in the mirror and think nothing about my physicality has changed since March 2, 2015.

I am still loved.