My hair. It’s taken many shapes and forms. It’s been braids, short, long, corn-rowed, faux-hawked, curly, straight, fluffy and smooth. But one thing is certain, it is quite probably my least favorite thing about myself.
Let me throw this out there, I love the color, but the time I liked my hair the best, the time when I felt the most feminine was when it was a shaggy pixie. I know, I know, this is counter-cultural.
But hey, like I said last time, words have power. When I had long hair I got a whole lot of, “You’re not a girl, you’re just a dude with long hair.” Or my favorite, “With your long hair you look a lot like Jim Morrison.”
Really? It took a while to convince my sister, Katie (the greatest hair stylist in Chicago) that I would take care of it and that I was sure. My mom cried and took a lock of it. But when my sister spun me around all I remember thinking was, “Hello beautiful!”
I got to wear big earrings, my cheek-bones stood out more, and it saved me time in the shower. There was freedom in my short hair, I felt like me.
So many girls chop their hair on the race or before it to surrender to God, to show that they are breaking away vanity. I grew mine out. My hair is not a source of pride, my lack of hair was.
Sure enough, it grew. First I had the duck tail, then that horrible length between your ears and your jaw. Inch by inch it grew…and so did my insecurity. I looked in the mirror and saw…him. That horrible non-existent male version of me, but had been spoken over me.
I stopped looking in the mirror when I brushed my teeth. I wanted my hair to be long, super long, so I could pull it up. But hair doesn’t grow back that fast, it’s a process, just like everything. Then it occurred to me.
What if I grew my hair out prayerfully? What if I re-claimed my hair? Not for it to be mine, but to enjoy it as a gift from God. But the battle continued even when I got home.
“I look like a boy.” I would express to my sister Katie. This was a sure-fire way to irritate to my sister I came to find out.
She would yell back, “That’s a lie! I don’t know who told you that, but it’s crap!” Did I just look like one then? What’s changed?
Nothing. I had let someone have power over my identity, I needed to take it back and believe the truth. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. And that includes my hair, and my lack of hair.
So, bring it on lies. I have two “x” chromosomes, and my hair is a gift from God. Just like my eyes, my skin and those are all expressions of my Heavenly Father, because I’m made in His image. I fully believe that God is a redhead, brunette, blonde, curly, straight, dreaded being.
