Personal Narrative: My Hair

720 Words2 Pages

She looks at me through the mirror with skepticism across her face. “Are you sure you want to do this?” “I’m sure,” I say with a nod. It’s taken over a year of contemplation and persuasion, I am not turning back now. I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut, the back of my neck tingling as the humming razor unforgivingly shears off twenty-eight inches of hair. Opening my eyes, I see my beautiful locks rubber-banded together and laid out on the speckled blue countertop in front of me.
Growing up in a traditional Indian family, I’ve always been pushed to preserve the thick, silky, black hair that I was “blessed” with. Long hair is encouraged for girls in my culture, as if it defined a woman. Cutting hair short is a very bold statement; some …show more content…

Although I liked how it looked, I felt like it overshadowed who I was. As a child, I was extremely shy and typically kept to myself. So much so, my family and friends would always tell me that I was “hiding behind a curtain” whenever I let my hair fall in front of my face. I finally realized that the only reason I kept my hair long was because I felt like I had to. Taking care of it was not worth the little satisfaction that it gave me when I took the time to style …show more content…

I felt naked, defenseless without the security of my hair veiled across me. Similar to those who wear a hijab, I hoped my worth would now be in my words and actions rather than my appearance. Instead, with my body in full view and nothing hidden under the shadow of hair and normalcy, I tore myself apart. I shamelessly picked at every single flaw I saw in myself. I thought that cutting my hair would make me feel edgy and bold, but I had never felt worse. I needed to prove my womanhood, so I wore makeup more often and dressed femininely to try to suppress the growing feeling of

Open Document