Prior to my life imploding, I had stumbled upon "the haircut" for me. That ever-elusive haircut that we all spend hours looking for in magazines, it’s the one that people compliment you on, ask you who cuts it, and tells you they wish they could have hair like yours. It’s the haircut that makes you feel like you've parted the heavens and the angels are singing your praises.
But after my husband decided to singlehandedly end our marriage, it was gone. Maybe it was the lack of sleep and appetite. Perhaps depression and anxiety took its toll. When the fog began to lift I noticed that my "perfect" cut was a mess. It was grown out. Stress had thinned my hair and highlights were replaced by grays. I always loved my gray but he hated it so I would color it to placate him. The minute she saw me she knew something was wrong, very wrong.
I let her know what had happened and why I was gone for so long. It definitely explained why my hair looked a hot mess. Yet when she asked to cut it in my signature style. I said "no". I had no desire to be that woman anymore. I hated and pitied myself for getting into my sorry situation. I walked out of there with a different cut, a different woman. Or so I thought.
Fast-forward a few months, and I hated my new cut. I thought it would help me gain momentum. Give my ego a boost. Move me in a different direction. I was moving forward with my life, I had made strides, but I had also lost my mojo.
"Any hope of getting it back?" I asked my hairdresser anxiously. "Sure! It'll just have to be a little shorter, but it’s doable!" And as I sat in her chair listening to her talk and snip my hair, I swear I started to hear angels singing. And when she finished and held up her mirror, the heavens parted. Was it the power of a great haircut? There was never anything wrong with me. I had mistakenly put all my faith into a man instead of into myself. I love who I am and who I'm becoming. The power of a great haircut got me my mojo back.
(originally posted by a community member.)