tortise and the hair - or why it took me so long

About three weeks ago, I cut all my hair off. About 10 inches, which needless to say was not all, but it might as well have been. I can not believe I haven't written about this yet. It was agonizing - the decision-making process. And, in actuality it took me about three years to come to the decision to cut. I exaggerate not. I started working at the salon in March of 2007. That's about when I first thought of cutting my 'beautiful hair', as Mom called it when she found a waste-basket full of it one fateful afternoon when I was five. Katie Holmes cut all her hair off I think the following January or something like that. That's when every soccer mom in a 10-mile radius of DL Salon made an appointment to go short. That, frankly, made me change my mind all together. I would NOT have the same haircut as the rest of Birmingham...or Hollywood. Period.

So, I resisted. It was hard. There were some cute cute cuts leaving the salon for months. Courtney, my friend and stylist, encouraged me to stay long. She held out with me, willing her blond Rapunzel hair to grow as long as possible, which is well past mid-back. I loved my long hair. Joey loved my long hair (I think most men do). It was a style - a statement in itself. It said, 'I'm carefree and fun. I ride in my Jeep with the top off and eat big macs and play the guitar and create things. I fall out of bed into awesome outfits, put on mascara and chap stick and don't have to brush my hair.' It said things like, 'I could do flip flops or stilettos. L.B.D. or cargo pants. I don't try to look this way. It just happens.' I felt like most women wanted my long hair (and let us be honest, ladies. We all know we dress for most women. If you can't admit that, you need to do some soul-excavating.)It was who I was.

Reality check.

I was none of those things. I was none of the things I thought my long hair was advertising. I don't even own a Jeep and I know that a big mac has 540 calories. I would never eat one. I would spend 15, 20, 30 minutes, sometimes close to an hour, trying on outfits in the morning. Stilettos kill my too-wide feet. I was faking.

Well, I am some of those things. I HATE putting on makeup. I am a mascara and chap stick girl. Live in flip flops in summer, boots in winter. Have a collection of LBDs and a love the cargo pant. But, rarely do I not try to achieve whatever 'look' I have going for me any given day. Thank goodness, more often than not, I am in pajamas or work-out clothes these days. As a matter of fact, there are days that I stay in PJs til mid-day, take a shower and put on different PJs. This, my friends, is the beauty of staying at home.

Bottom line, though? I was obsessed with my hair. And the hair, obviously, was just part of a whole. I was obsessed with my appearance. I cared so much about the way that I looked, I would only wear things, outfits, that I thought would get me compliments. I needed them. They fueled me. And, for one reason or another, I strived, worked, to be the most attractive person at the salon. Or wherever. I was addicted. I was addicted to looking a certain way and I was addicted to my long hair because it was the icing on my cake.

So, it had to go.

I am changed. Not since cutting my hair, but since being at home. Since having Waylon. One of the luxuries of staying home (besides the PJ thing) is the amount of time I get to spend in scripture - reading it, singing it, meditating on it. I spend more time with my LORD now than I ever have. Ever. And I am changed because of it.

I can tell you, without hesitation or pride, that I am not obsessed with the way that I look anymore. I will say, it's sort of like AA, I guess. Appearances Anonymous. I still struggle. There are people and places that I come across for one reason or another that I want to look a certain way for. There are people whose compliments mean more to me than others and I still want them. Worst of all, I sometimes care too much about how Waylon looks. My seven-month-old son. And have you seen him? He'd be stunningly adorable in a paper sack. No kidding. But, I want desperately for him to know that the way he looks is unimportant. And, the best way for me to teach him that is to show him that the way Mama looks is unimportant. And to compliment him on the other great things about him, like his genius and hilarity and cool disposition.

Good things: 1) Joey still thinks I'm beautiful. I seriously thought his opinion of the physical me would diminish without long hair. He was very supportive and encouraging and thinks my hair looks beautiful now. 2) I donated my cut hair to Beautiful Lengths. So, hopefully, someone who doesn't have their own hair can use mine instead. 3) Short hair is unspeakably easier than long hair, with or without a child. So e-a-s-y. 4) Cutting my hair was the biggest step in quitting my addiction so far. Things can only get better from here. 5) Before the cut, I could get ready, shower-to-door, in about 25-30 minutes. Now, it's at least 15-20. These are all good things.

I miss it, though. I miss the way it made me feel. I always felt like my hair was the best thing I had going for me. It was sexy. But, in the end, it felt like a wig. I had come to the point where standing in front of a mirror, I felt like I was wearing someone else's hair. The day I got it cut was nauseating and liberating. It felt like I got extensions removed and I could finally be me again. I was supposed to have short hair right now. I may grow it out again one day. But it's me for now.

I've actually thought about going shorter.