I currently need $3550 in order to be fully funded, please prayerfully consider donating towards my mission trip, and partnering with the ministry we’re doing around the world. It’s fast and easy, just click the “donate” button above.
November 28th – Skopje, Macedonia – Hostel Urban – 7:47am
Upon noticing the time, I groaned and rolled over. Why on earth would I get up before 8am on my 1st morning to sleep-in in the last month? Then I noticed the message that had woken me up, “Are you awake right now? Would you wanna do it now? I can come up if you’d like?” As I stared at the message, and read it for the 3rd time, my brain finally kicked in and I realized what the message was about. I jumped out of bed, threw some real clothes on and quietly stepped into the living room, surprised to find my 2 roommates still asleep on the futon. But by now it was too late to ask, as any minute now Jason would be arriving — to shave my head.
Jason arrived shortly and by 8am I had a freshly shaved head. I couldn’t stop running my hand over my head, enjoying the soft fuzziness of my hair. As he worked, Jason had asked me questions about why I was doing this, and why I had already cut off most of the hair myself.
Let me back up real quick, a few days prior to this, I had found myself home alone for the first time in a while, the rest of the team was out and would be gone for quite some time. After watching a movie and simply enjoying being alone, I felt the need to stand in the bathroom and look myself in the eye via the mirror. With my hair down.
By this point, I had come to loath my hair. Actually, hate is a much better word for it, despite how strong of a word it really is, it was the truth. I was embarrassed, I hated how I looked and blamed it all on the hair. In fact, I had actually started combing out several of the dreads and now had this awkward long normal patch of hair that consumed 1/4 of my head. As I looked into that mirror, I found myself staring at a stranger, someone who had long since lost touch with herself, who struggled to get out of bed in the morning, and hated every glimpse of herself that she ever got.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was standing in the mirror with scissors in one hand and the 1st cut dread in the other. I remember staring at that dread, trying to put words to the intense waves of emotions that were currently washing over me. How can I even begin to explain the overwhelming sense of freedom, relief, and joy that cutting my hair gave me? How can I explain what it was like to be the one who physically released me from the very things that were holding me in bondage?
Even then, as I shared all of this with Jason nearly a week later, it was hard to put it into words. I finally settled on the simplest answer I knew people would accept and basically told him I did it for personal reasons. Of course, he wanted to know more than that, so I shared how I had been letting my hair dictate who I was and what I was worth. As well as the response I got from God: “Molly, if only you could see how ridiculous you are being. You’re letting a patch of fur on top of your head dictate your worth, importance, beauty, and womanhood”
Moments after Jason shaved my head, I met up with the rest of the squad to begin our 2nd debrief. I learned fairly quickly how much insulation my hair had given me over the last several months and immediately regretted burying my beanie at the bottom of my big pack, as every gentle (freezing) breeze made me cringe. But none of that truly mattered because I was free. Ask any one of my squadmates and they’ll tell you, there was an immediate and noticeable shift within me — you could see it in my eyes.
Since shaving my head, I’ve come to realize just how many other women out there struggle with their hair and finding their identity and worth in it. The more women I talked with, the more I heard of others wishing they had the courage, boldness, or bravery to do what I did.
Courage. Boldness. Bravery. Words I’ve always longed to have spoken over me. But this time around, those words felt foreign.
I didn’t shave my head to be bold.
I didn’t shave my because I felt courageous.
And I definitely didn’t shave my head out of bravery.
I shaved my head — for freedom.
And that’s exactly what I found. Courage, boldness, and bravery just happened to come with it.
P.S If you’d like to hear more about my journey in finding freedom, please please please (!!) message me. I’m only a month into this journey, but if my story can help you in any way, I’d love to share it.
