For many people, hair isn’t just a part of their look. Our hair affects us more than we realize. Not only is it a reflection of our own personal preferences, but having a “good hair day” can often make or break your opinion of yourself, and how you want to be perceived.
For me, my hair has always been one of my most defining (and frustrating) traits. I grew up with a curly mop of blonde hair. I see pictures of me as a kid, with hair as bright as a highlighter, reflecting the flash of the camera. It contrasted with my sisters’ long, chocolate brown curls. Mine was always tangled up in headbands, frizzing out at the beach, or stuck to my lip gloss. By high school, my curly blonde hair grew very long, damaged from the years of swim team and daily flat ironing. My mother, who dyed her own strands blonde every two weeks, insisted we get matching highlights.
By the time I moved out and went to college, I finally felt in control of my hair. Without my mom telling me what to do, without my swim cap ruining my precious hair, without my desire to get it pin-straight every day—I could do whatever I wanted with it. I dyed it various shades of purple and cut it short, which became my new look. There was something freeing about doing anything I wanted with my body. I knew that no matter what, my hair could always grow back. Finally, I felt very in control of something that had bothered me my whole life.
Then, something very out of my control happened: while I was asleep, I was sexually assaulted by someone who I had been dating for nearly two years.
We broke up just a few days after. On top of the trauma my assault caused me, I suddenly felt ashamed of my body and appearance. I would look in the mirror and feel...not like myself. I didn’t know who I was, or who I wanted to be. My hair, in particular, felt…wrong. It was so short. I suddenly felt exposed and humiliated, like I needed more hair in order to create a curtain over my body.
“We hide behind our hair because it’s a form of expression, it’s a way of saying, look how in control I am over my own life and my own choices,” says Kendra McDonald, a mental health counselor, who says she sees hairstyle changes often in patients. “Hair can be manipulated rather quickly at home with $8 boxes of dye. [This makes] it easier for people to fit into their own sense of what they should look like.”
My hair became crucial to my healing. I needed to gain that control again—the control that was taken from me on that night. I wanted to be a different person. I didn’t want to be recognized for the short hair I had sported for the past three years. So, I made the choice to stop cutting my hair, which notoriously grows very fast. I kept it up for about five years. To this day, I haven’t gone to a salon or chopped off more than half an inch.
Now, over five years since the incident, my hair is about 26 inches when it’s straight. (Yes, I measured it. I know, it’s weird). I dye it the deepest shade of brown I can find, which is a stark contrast from my light brown college hair. I wear glittery hair clips and even learned how to French braid.
Overall, long hair has helped me discover new things about myself. For instance, I love velvet scrunchies (who knew!). I also love being able to change up my hairstyle at any moment. When I had short hair, I usually wore it one way. Longer hair opens up the opportunity to create new styles, and in turn, create a new identity for myself. It affected my outfit choices, my confidence, and even my attitude.
Every inch my hair grew, I would feel my former self getting farther and farther away. With long hair, I wasn’t the same girl I was when I was sexually assaulted. With long hair, I could confidently walk around the streets of New York, without fearing my assaulter would recognize me. I could pass him, and he wouldn't even take a second glance. I felt free.
McDonald says that many people who have experienced trauma hold onto their hair as a means of control over how they feel about themselves.
“We sometimes rush out and make changes to our hair when we feel out of control,” she notes.
Soon, I learned that letting my hair grow out wouldn't solve all my problems. But it did help me realize that there are many different ways to view myself, and none of them are bad. They are just…me. I tried to use my hair as a shield. But what I really had to do was heal on my own—grow and learn about myself—despite what my hair looked like. The long hair just so happened to help.
Recently, I have contemplated cutting my hair—mostly because I feel strong enough to do so. At this point, long hair has been a part of me for so many years that I have been thinking: maybe it’s time to reinvent myself. Perhaps it’s time to keep healing and growing, even if it’s only mentally. Growing out my hair has shown me that I don’t actually have to change up my look in order to feel in control. (Still, it can be fun to learn new hairstyles in the process!).
Last fall, I ran into my assaulter. We were at a coffee shop, and he walked into the room. An instant chill went down my neck. I froze, but I didn’t fall apart. I was still the one in control. I could still be aware of my own body, no matter what my hair looked like. I purchased my latte and left the shop, walking into the brisk October afternoon, throwing my hair up into a ponytail, and not looking back.
