My hair softened those sharp edges. It neutralized the threat of me. It said I was no trouble. My haircut changed my life.
Letting my hair go natural lifted a huge burden off my shoulders. I don’t feel like a slave to it anymore.
Letting my hair go natural lifted a huge burden! I don’t feel like a slave to it anymore, which has made me feel less annoyed by it.
One of the things I have done for myself in adulthood as part of my healing process is make a strong claim to fatness femininity.
I’m not a trend setter or a trend follower; I have my own fashion sense that’s completely independent of what’s splashing across Instagram — although I am very in favor of the pastel hair dye trend.
Some people would say my bangs make me look younger and I should grow them out, but I disagree. My bangs don’t magically change my appearance, but my forehead feels naked without them.
Of all of the supposed beauty “problems” in the world, for me, roots are really the least “problematic.” In fact, I love mine dearly.
Oh yes — you read correctly.
Being a “strong” and “empowered” woman is so hot right now.
I can feel proud of my cleavage and my combat boots. I feel fierce in drop-crotch sweatpants and preppy sweaters. I carry my edge with me and, with it, my own brand of femininity. Best of all, I consult no one but my own eyes. I don’t ask permission. I don’t seek what’s in fashion.
There’s nothing wrong with moms who decide to go for a stereotypical “mom cut.” If they like it, or if it makes their lives easier, that’s fantastic. Personally, my hair after I had children remained just as important to me as it was before I had them. My hair has always been a huge part of my identity — candy-colored, funky, and so totally me.
I am a perimenopausal woman in her 40s who still feels like a 23-year-old at heart. I cannot stop the progression of time and its effects on my physical appearance, regardless of how youthful my spirit may be.