I Keep Chopping My Hair Off

My approach to overcoming Insecurity

It all started with a movie.

It was the film Kit Kittredge: An American Girl, to be precise. I was 8 years old, my mom took me to see it in theaters, and I made my decision.

I wanted to have short hair, too.

The movie character that started it all (source)

My mom was hesitant when I told her I wanted my hair cut like Kit’s. I had really thin hair, and chopping it to chin-length had the potential to make it appear even more sparse. But, ever the supportive parent, she didn’t say much more than an “are you sure?” before scheduling an appointment at a Great Clips.

To her surprise, I pulled off the look. Somehow the length made my hair seem thicker—and supposedly I have the face shape for it. Ever since then, I’ve worn it at varying lengths, but in recent years I can’t let it grow much past my shoulder blades before desperately wanting to shave it all off. Long hair is a lot of work.

My hair throughout the years

When I hit high school, though, cutting my hair short took on a new meaning. It was no longer just a well-suited hair style.

It was a battle with insecurity.

Somewhere along the way my neck had become a source of self-consciousness for me. The surge of hormones in my early teenage years brought with it a reasonable amount of insecurities—my neck one of the top contenders. I saw a candid photo of myself from the side and thought, is that what I really look like? Because you see, well, I’ve got a long neck.

For some time in middle school I rocked the low ponytail—which certainly didn’t help. I have no clue how other girls make the hairdo look good, but I most definitely cannot join that club. In high school, I wore my hair down daily and avoided putting it up at all costs. It was top priority that my neck was always shielded by my brown locks.

I had to keep it long for dance, and then after that, it was back at my shoulders. Still, though, it covered my neck. For a few years I considered going really short, my mind going back and forth on just how much to cut exactly. A pixie cut wasn’t out of the question but I was unsure if I was brave enough for that (spoiler: I have yet to go that short. Maybe someday…).

Finally, I took the leap. I lopped it off at chin level.

Now I could no longer hide.

The shortest I’ve ever gone!

My neck was bared for the whole world to see; there would be no more hiding behind a curtain of hair. I would have to wait for it to grow out again, and until then, my only option was to face it and embrace it. So, that’s exactly what I did.

But this wasn’t the first time.

By this point, the “face it embrace it” approach had become a bit of a pattern for me. I’d uncover a fun little insecurity, try to hide it for a while, and eventually do something drastic to leave myself with nowhere to run. And honestly? It works pretty darn well.

Makeup was another instance of this. When I got old enough to begin wearing it, it was like a rite of passage. A chance to step into womanhood and make my face prettier. To look older, more mature, more attractive. And as most women do, I soon found myself reliant upon it.

I didn’t feel pretty without makeup—I had to wear it everywhere. It hid my undereye bags (which I really didn’t have, but I thought I did?) and my acne. I felt naked without it.

One day I opened up to a church friend about it and, unsurprisingly, she felt the exact same way. So we promised each other that the next time we had a youth group get together we would both forgo the makeup. We stayed true to our word; a few days later, we bravely met up with our friends at a park bare-faced—and felt extremely self-conscious the entire time.

It’s ironic, now, because I rarely wear makeup. A slight swipe of mascara feels like a fully painted face. And I credit it all to that one day in the park; from that moment on, I challenged myself to go makeupless more and more until I forgot the crutch in my bathroom drawer and thought less about the skin under my eyes.

Insecurity is self-focused.

Seriously—stop thinking so much about yourself. Let go of the worries you have about your body or skin or hair. It’s not that deep. Chances are most people don’t see what you do, and if they do, who cares? Flaws are a beautiful part of being human and what make us all different.

The most important thing is that we take care of ourselves. Beyond that, whatever is out of our control, or simply a part of who we are—let it go. Life is too short to spend so much time stewing over that one crooked tooth or the scar on your face. Side note: my husband has a scar on his lip and I adore it. You never know what other people find attractive.

So screw it. Face it and embrace it.

Because, truth is, you’re a work of art.