A Quiet Rebellion – Composing Fin

On a little step stool, I stood at the bathroom sink looking up at the mirror hanging above it. Taking a deep breath, with visions of Demi Moore, Sigourney Weaver, and Robin Tunney flickering through my mind (beautiful, bald, and badass), I stretched my right thumb and flipped up the ‘on’ button.

The trimmer I was holding started buzzing, sending little shivers across my palm and down my arm, the vibrations surely reaching my heart as it was beating rapidly. I felt exhilarated. I was ready.

Another deep breath.

Then, reaching over to my forehead, I ran the clipper up into my hair for the first time. There was no going back. Every hair on my body was raised as the thrill of what I was doing rolled through every cell of me. My ears tickled. I kept going. One path of dark hair cleared after another. Then, leaning forward over the sink, I awkwardly reached behind towards the back of my head, starting at the base of my neck and moving upwards. One pass after another. Then again sideways from ear to ear.

I stood up again, looking at myself in the mirror, bits of fallen hair clinging to my neck and shoulders. It was done. A sudden bit of doubt crept into my thoughts but just as quickly dissipated. I smiled with elated disbelief at what I had just done. My hair was gone.

I was 13 years old.

This act was fuelled by a deep desire to liberate and express myself. Ellen Ripley and Jordan O’Neill were powerful and attractive without their hair…and so was I. But my belief was contrary to what I constantly heard around me. The messages were clear: a woman’s worth lies in her appearance, and her hair is her crowning glory. These were not messages I believed in or understood, and I had been feeling an increasing need to do something about it…not for others, but for myself.

Save for my immediate family, nobody could tell what I had done. I used to wear a headscarf (hijab) at the time. It wasn’t meant to be a loud or attention-grabbing thing to have done. It wasn’t about showing off or causing a stir and it wasn’t about wanting people to see how cool or wild I was. It was about me, wanting to validate my individuality and freedom.

It was a quiet rebellion. The act of shaving my hair off at that age was simply and intimately mine.

I wasn’t popular as a kid, nor was I a shy loner. I was generally unassuming and determined to do things my way. I don’t think I realized at the time just how special that was among my peers. Whatever statements I made, I made them quietly, without expecting any attention for them…in fact, I hated the attention because I just wanted to be myself without it turning into a ‘thing’. The one or two friends I had, who knew me for myself, were all that I needed.

Once, while waiting to be picked up at the end of a school day, one of the popular kids somehow found out that I had a shaved head under my scarf. She came up to me, and being taller, leaned over to peer under the rim of my scarf towards my hairline. She straightened up, smiling approvingly, and said, “I like you. You’re cool.” Was she expecting me to be grateful? The cool kids usually do. I wasn’t impressed. I might have mumbled a ‘thanks’, but my one thought in that moment was, “Yeah, I know.” I didn’t need her validation and it bothered me that she offered her comment like some kind of blessing.

And today, things aren’t any different. When it seems like success is reliant upon being noticed by others for approval, I get a little defiant. When culturally conditioned thoughts find their way into my consciousness, of needing to put myself further ‘out there’ and be this way, behave that way, do this, and say that, in order to find connection, to market my business, to find success, I recall my quiet act of self-love and affirmation.

I believe that we can carve out our own path on our own time, one that feels right for us. You had a purpose long before anyone had opinions about your path and how you should walk it. We don’t have to prove anything to anyone. We can take the road less travelled. Kindred spirits walk there too, and though it may take some time, we will most certainly cross paths. It’s not necessarily the road of the admired and marketable masses, but deep within, it’s the more fulfilling one.