Do Scary Things in Your Thirties, You’re Ready.

Last September I cut my hair. Shaved it all off.

30 something. Finally in a place of true, soaked-through confidence as a woman. Ready to do scary things and relish in the peaceful liberation that doing them brings.

Shaving my head might not seem scary to you, but it was to me! I wanted to do it sooner, but I didn’t. Do we all have these “scary” little things hanging in our closets?

Thoughts about having short hair started around the age of 8 or 10.

My college-age cousin cropped her hair short to her ears. She played on her college soccer team, and to me she was cool. I remember pulling my hair behind my head, letting it fold at my ears, trying to envision my hair like hers.

Then, in college myself, I watched on as a friend had her head shaved by another. She looked beautiful and cool. I doubt it’s a rare scene for a college campus: folks gathered around watching someone shave their head. As a player in the scene, I felt pulled to take the chair and do it too, but I was too scared, not ready.

Before this recent September, my hair had never been shorter than just above my shoulders.

I always loved long hair. I wanted my hair to be down to my waist, as long and thick and flowing as I could get it. Many summers it was past my waist and bleached out from the sun and ocean where I spent my days. My hair was a sign of the endless summer I longed for.

Paradoxically, there was always a whisper: Cut it, shave it, chop it all off.

Once, I vocalized wanting Julie Andrews’ haircut. I told my friends how pretty I thought she was, “the ideal woman”. A friend quickly retorted: “Don’t! I tried to get that cut once! I looked like a little schoolboy.”

That comment echoed as another series of years wanting but feeling unprepared, unsure.

About a year before I did actually shave my head, I was beginning to get a real itch, so I texted one of my best friends:

“Do you think I can pull off the Julie Andrews’ hairdo?”

“I feel like you have to be super feminine to pull that off…”

I’m definitely not super feminine — always a tomboy and often dressed for gardening. So again, I pushed it to the back of my mind, ignoring my intuition.

The months went by, my 32nd birthday approached, and the compulsion to cut my hair grew. Stop asking, Abi, just do it.

One day, without much to-do or any drumroll, I put my hair in a low ponytail and handed the sharp scissors to my husband.

He cut the 12 inch ponytail off, and I shoved it into a plastic bag to donate later. Then, I cut the rest of my hair as short as I could get it with scissors before the clippers came out to finish the job. I resolved to go all the way, to shave it. Don’t stop, don’t overthink, just do it.

This immediate transformation was a drastic one for most people to see for the first time. I recognized it as drastic, too, but my mindset shifted pretty quickly.

For the first time in my life, I believed the common adage “it’s only hair, it’ll grow back.” It is! I was still a whole and beautiful woman underneath my buzzed head.

I saw my face and came to terms with the fact that I’m not only beautiful if I’m having a good hair day. My hair was no longer a hiding place. I couldn’t hope “people would see my nice hair and not notice the acne on my chin.”

Cutting my hair put a magnifying glass on those little insecurities I lived with quietly and daily. It allowed me to hold them in the light, place them in view. I can see that they can’t hurt me. I have no hair, and I am beautiful.

Not everyone liked this look on me. It was fortifying to hear the reactions of a distinct few who didn’t like it. There will always be a handful of people who are critical of anything I do, regarding my appearance or otherwise. And those who say they “don’t care what people think” still do, a little. I’m one of those people, who’s always been a little more confident than is responsible. But inside I have cared about certain opinions about certain parts of myself.

Now here, in my 30s with a shaved head, I’m growing fully into that proclaimed confidence.

My hair feels like a better match to my self now. I’ve relished every new week of hair growth as I experience a new short hair look. Where will I settle? It’s exciting to move through this slow shift in newness and appreciation. I should have done this a long time ago. Who knew!?

But I don’t grieve not doing it sooner, “it is only hair” after all

And this is what our thirties are for: doing the things we’ve finally grown up enough to do.

Things we could have done sooner, or maybe should have done sooner. The things that may have haunted us in all stages of our life, but to which we’ve never opened the door.

In the flurry of adolescence and early adulthood, we can’t capture assurance enough to do these scary things. A few decades of life lived by now, still young but older, we find ourselves grounded.

Shaving your head isn’t a huge thing, but I wouldn’t realize that without having done it. The idea would have remained hulking in the shadows while I kept my back to it. Now that I see its face, reflected back to me in the mirror, I am made more curious. Curious to see more of myself, in greater depths and dimensions.

How many other hidden fears will I uncover in my sock drawer? Will these fears and insecurities be revealed as treasures too?

To all my friends in their thirties: can we clothe ourselves in the built confidence of this age, fling the doors open, and step through?

I hope.

Now’s the time, we’re ready.