A few months ago, I was sitting in a youth service when two
beautiful young ladies came into the room.
One of these young girls was in a wheel chair. I knew nothing of these girls, I didn’t know
their story, their names or even who they arrived with, but my heart went out
to them. Not in a sympathetic, I feel so
bad for her being in a wheel chair sort of way, but in a compassionate,
heartfelt, I love these girls sort of way.
About 2 weeks went by and I hadn’t thought much else about
these girls. I hadn’t seen them and I’d
been preoccupied with the business of my own life, when I was asked if a woman
named Sharon could contact me and tell me a little about these girls. Of course my response was an immediate “yes.” Sharon contacted me via email and connected
me with website managed by their mom where I could read their story and daily
challenges. I quickly learned that there
were more children in the family and they all struggled with similar medical
disorders that have tremendous impact on the brain and basic function. I sat at my computer for nearly 3 hours,
tears streaming down my face as I read these blog entries, over and over,
trying to make sense of it all, and feeling so insignificant. I sat and I prayed, and I looked at my two
perfect little girls and I cried and it didn’t seem fair. This poor mother struggling with all of her
children, why was I blessed with such an “easy” route??
I looked through the pictures and I thought about these
sweet children especially these pre-teen girls who had to shave their heads for
their brain surgeries. I thought about
myself as a pre-teen girl and how devastating that would have been for me. I thought about myself now, how much vanity
is tied up in my hair; how much time is spent fussing over it in the mirror,
how much money is spent on expensive shampoos, conditioners and styling
products, or time and money at the salon.
How much emphasis I place on fixing my girls’ hair “just right.” I felt sick.
What vanity! How much had I
invested into something so trivial? What
kind of message was I sending to my daughters?
I thought about these girls, and I wanted to love them. These girls didn’t know me. They’d never heard my name. They probably didn’t even see me across that
dark youth room several months ago. I
wanted to know what it was like. I
wanted to feel the vulnerability of not having the superficiality of a pretty
head of hair to rely on. I wanted to
shave my head.
I struggled with this thought. I was fighting my own insecurities. I wanted to shave my head but I was fearful
of what that would mean. I was fearful
of how I’d be responded to. I was
fearful of how my husband would respond to me.
How would I explain that I wanted to completely alter my appearance for
complete strangers? I dropped hints at
the idea. I wanted to see how people
would respond. Sitting at the dinner
table one evening with my family and best friend, I said, “I think I’m going to
shave my head.” I was met with
overwhelming opposition. I didn’t know
how to explain to them WHY I wanted to do it.
My husband pleaded with me, not to shave my head, and so I didn’t…
Two weeks later—more vanity.
On a whim, my husband and I decided to dye my hair. I wanted something different, he wanted to
see how I’d look with dark locks. When
we were finished with our evening experiment, my bathroom was a speckled mess
and I was devastated. What was supposed
to be brown came out jet black. I became
obsessed with trying to fix it. I spent
hours staring in the mirror, trying to figure if it was better straight, maybe
if I twisted it this way, or fixed my makeup that way…ugh, I’m just going to
re-dye it. So I went and bought more
hair dye. My mom and I spent another 2
hours trying to dye it, and style it, my recently assaulted scalp was burning
from all of the chemicals, and the result was exactly the same. At this point I was obsessed, and then in a
moment it all became crystal clear. You
are more than hair. These girls are more
than hair. So much time, energy, money
and emotion has been wasted over something so superficial—cut it off. I said it, and everyone gasped. At that point it no longer mattered. I knew why I had to do it. It wasn’t because of the hair dye, it wasn’t
because of anything but standing up and affirming within myself that my value
is more than my appearance.
As Alex left to pick Michaela up from school and Emily was
contentedly playing with dinosaurs in her room, I parted my hair into 4 pony
tails and I lifted the scissors to it. My
heart was racing as contemplated, not doing it, but then I made the first cut
and the second, and the third, and the fourth.
I stood there with a mess of odd lengthed hairs all over my head and
then I picked up the clippers. There was
no going back. I started to shave, and I
started to cry. I cried because all at
once I knew what it felt like to no longer feel like a girl and I knew what
these two girls felt. As I stepped from
the bathroom with a bag full of my hair, my beautiful 3 year old daughter
looked up at me and started to cry. Through
sobs, she told me to “put your hair back on mommy, you look like a boy!” I knew
I made the right decision. I’d been
teaching her all wrong!
When Alex got home, he was upset. Michaela didn’t say a word. At dinner, he wouldn’t look at me. He didn’t kiss me, or hold me as we went to
sleep that night. He said, “At least you
still have a pretty face.” He didn’t
understand why I made the decision, and I didn’t know how to tell him. The next morning, at breakfast, Michaela
still hadn’t commented on my hair.
Knowing that I was about to take her to school and be seen by all of her
friends, I wanted to be sensitive of my child’s feelings. I asked her what she thought about my hair
and if she was ok with her friends seeing me without any hair, and immediately
she started to sob. “No, mommy, it looks
weird, will you PLEASE wear a hat when you take me to school?!” I too had been teaching her all wrong.
The next few days I was frequently asked if I was crazy, or
I “pulled a Brittany” no one knew the real reason. I didn’t think that they’d understand how
strangers had such an impact on my heart, and why I’d shave my head for a
family who had never seen me and didn’t even know my name. The response was mostly positive. “Well, you have a good head shape for it” “I’m surprised, you still look very feminine” “Wow, you’re brave.” When it came out on Facebook, I finally
revealed the real reason, or as best as I could in a few words of a
status. I was overwhelmed with praise
and encouragement and positive words and thoughts, “likes” and gratitude. I met the family virtually. They gave me such positive
reinforcement. They wrote kind words
about me and praised me for what I’d done.
I became the “talk” of the web, and all of a sudden I felt like it was
all wrong. I didn’t do it for fame, I
didn’t do it for attention, or praise. I
did it because of a deep conviction.
I had been so afraid of how everyone would respond to me
that I felt like I had to be honest about my motives. I thought that maybe if they knew why I did
it, they wouldn’t think I was crazy, they could look past the glare coming off
of my scalp—and most could. The truth is
though, this society is superficial. I
get stared at everywhere I go. And even
though there is no way I could ever understand the physical pain that these
children deal with daily, I think I’ve had a glimpse at the emotional pain,
because the truth is, people don’t relate to me the same way, and no matter how
much it is said that people support me, or are proud of me, I’m still the “freak”
in the room—and for them, I’m ok with that.
