How One Drastic Move Taught Me Something That Therapy Couldn’t
Written By: Jocelynn Sendelbach
“Women must learn to find self-worth within themselves, not through others. It is important to carve out a place just for you”. Georgette Mosbacher (1947 -)
They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but what if an attractive woman decided to victimize her red hair and give it to the ground? What if after what was part of the woman’s identity, now only hinted of any memories that it once was filled with hundreds of strands leaving nothing but the feeling of peach fuzz glowing underneath the bathroom lights? Would she still be accepted into society as beautiful or would she be succumbed to never-ending looks of pity and questions that the eyes would dare to ask? How long would it take for her to feel her self-confidence drift away with each passing hurtful comment, telling her how much “prettier” she could be if she had long hair?
These questions were a response to an impulsive decision to alter my appearance one summer day last year. Instead of having wavy locks, I look more like I was going to be shipped off to military basic training, only it was not the high and tight look that I became accustomed to seeing on my military friends. I was just plain, bald. The only thing that still remains is a slight hint of strawberry blonde on the very top. I am most certain that the first question that you are asking yourself is, what happened to make her use the barely touched hair clippers that was collecting dust on the shelf?
At first the answer was simple, it seemed that life around me was spinning out of control and I couldn’t escape the anguish and ugliness that was staring back at me through the looking glass. The only repetitive thought was how unnecessary and chaotic it was and I needed to do something to change it, immediately. The only thing I accomplished was making things feel even more out of control, as tears started streaming down my face in disbelief of my actions. It then became a frantic mission to find anything that would hide any evidence to prove that I was an even more chaotic mess than what I was truly ready to accept. No hat, no wig or bandana let me escape the reality of the image from the unforgiving mirror. My problem was that. I didn’t recognize myself, I felt as if I was staring at a stranger. All I saw was someone who’s eyes were sad while they inspected every facial flaw, the odd shape of the scalp and the now visible imperfections that only someone with hair could normally disguise.
Then just as the time it took to go from one emotion to another, they stopped all together. I questioned why was I reacting as if I mourning the idea that my looks were the gateway to societal acceptance? I was caring about where I fit in with a bunch a strangers, when that day was also the day that I told my very religious mother that I was not and never have been the heterosexual daughter she continuously insisted was my actual identity. My mother versus the rest of the world’s expectations of what is deemed worthy. It was hypocritical of me to value something that really is worthless, but yet stand up to the person who should be valued the most. It was a shameful revelation that was definitely not one of my proudest moments. It was obvious right then that despite the countless amount of therapy sessions and groups did I know that my priorities needed a major overhaul.
My need to be accepted has always been a struggle for me, even through my late 30’s. I wanted to be liked, desired, but first and foremost, loved. Only it was the wrong kind of love, I never loved and accepted myself. I won’t lie, it didn’t take just one moment, it took many moments to allow myself to tune out the criticism that appeared everywhere and started doing things that were beyond the superficial happiness that I so heavily depended on. The truth of it all is that it’s been an ongoing mission for the past year.
Today, fortunately, body acceptance and self-love is an even bigger movement today than it was a year ago. However, as my hair has grown out some within the year, it is still quite short and I can’t wait for it to grow a bit longer. I am still getting compared to my long hair and how beautiful it was, asking me questions to why did I want to change it. A family member even thought it was ok to tell me how short hair is meant to be on a boy, while girls should have long hair. Sure, this family member is from an older generation, but comments like that are really not the truth, it’s the way I look at myself I find to be my truth. I stopped giving people the power to decide on who I was and I started adding my own contributions to what makes me who I am. That is something that I could never genuinely say throughout my entire life, until today.
“Dedicated to those who feel that changing a piece of them will create judgmental hate. Remember the ratio of love vs. hate is 100:1. Don’t ever let even one person undo the love that a hundred people have shown you.” Jocelynn Sendelbach

