Confession
I have a confession that must be made. Since I am not Catholic or Episcopalian I have no priest in which to confide. Hell, I am not even a practicing Protestant; however, that is entirely beyond the point. I have done something very drastic, something which I must live with for quite some time. But that is not what I must confess; although my drastic action is what led to my sin. You see, I have lied. I lied to myself, to my family and friends, and even to the stranger that I chat with regularly when online. And while I can usually stretch the truth without feeling to much guilt; this seems to be consuming me.
Perhaps to understand you must be taken back to that drastic action which has affected me so much. However, I really don’t know where to start. Does it start with frustration and hatred born over 30 years? Does it start with desires of which I was to afraid to act? Does it start with an innocent story which inadvertently gave me an inner strength? Or does it start with a week plus of intense stress that broke down my resistance (or just the voice that said your desires are not acceptable for women)?
Then again, maybe the doing the act itself was the beginning. The lie was just a believable, sane excuse for the insane act which I willing committed (and have since done repeatedly). In order to understand the lie, you must understand the act. To understand the act and my desire to do (and continue doing) what I have done, you must understand me. Although, I really don’t expect that as even as I write this I am not sure that I understand myself.
First let me make it perfectly clear that I have never been diagnosed with any mental disorder or illness. That is not to say that I do not suffer from any; just if I do it has not been professionally diagnosed. Second, I should warn you that mental disorders or illnesses to run rampant in my father’s family. Mostly Attention Deficit Disorder and Bipolar Disorder, but there have been a few with unnamed ailments. Paranoia is also quite common, but alas, I believe that is completely off topic at the moment.
Having mentioned all of this, I believe it would be good to mention the 30 years of frustration and hatred. No, no, no, it is not towards anyone or even myself. Well, actually it is at a part of me. You see, I have always hated my hair. It is fine and straight. It has almost no texture. The only good thing that has been said about it is there is a lot of it (or perhaps that is was). Anyway, it was impossible. If I washed it everyday, nothing could be done with it that day without a lot of styling products, necessitating in a lot of money spent on hairspray, mouse and gel. Plus a lot of time spent everyday washing the previous day’s gunk out of it only to add fresh gunk and spend hours trying to dry and curl it. If I did not wash it everyday, it quickly became limp and oily even if no products were used on it. Sometimes a good perm or color would provide a temporary solution. However, those get tiring and having it done right gets very expensive. All of this only leads to frustration and hatred. Another temporary solace I found was the ponytail or French braid; but those get tiring day in and day out.
Now that you know this, perhaps you will understand my actions after a long stressful week. You see about a month ago, maybe a little less, was a week like one that I had ne’er before experienced in my life. It was, of course, just before Christmas. The stress of cleaning and preparing for the holiday is usually joyful for me. You see for the second year in a row, I got to host the dinner. Until last year, my husband and I had always packed the kids to one of the grandmas for Christmas. So it is fun after ten years to be able to do something like that. I however, I also had finals at the same time. I have gone back to school, and after completing this semester I am now three away from my BA. Finals are always stressful, but this year was particularly so. I only took three courses, but in those three courses I had three major essays due, a large project and presentation, and an actual exam all due at the same time. Now, I am sure you are all wondering how I survived without being locked up, but I’m not done yet. Also during that week my four year old daughter fell ill, I had to deal with that womanly time of the month, and I was told that my daughter’s preschool would be closing in January just after I go back to school.
I did I handle all of this, I’m not really sure. But it did give a convenient excuse for the one thing I had thought about sporadically since I was a little girl, even more so recently.
One week before Christmas, with one essay, the project and presentation, and the exam all completed, I sat at home trying desperately to finish the last two essays. The boys were at Grandma’s because there school had just let out, my daughter was in preschool, and my husband had gone Christmas shopping. There I sat, unable to concentrate. Then the idea popped into my head. I tried but could not shake it.
I walked into the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and stared at myself in the mirror. Then I did it. I picked up my razor and ran it across my scalp. Coming out of my razor was a good chunk of long, dark, murky brown hair. But doing it this way would not work, it would take forever. So, I rummaged for my kitchen shears and cut off as much as I could. That is when my husband came home early; he had been gone less than an hour. So, I buried what I could of my hair in the trash, and jumped in the shower until he left again. Once he left, I picked up my razor and worked at it until my scalp was smooth. Since this day, I have shaved everyday and sometimes twice a day. I did let it grow for about a week, when I started to experience brief regret over what I have done. However, I found that I missed the smooth feeling a bare skin on my head much more than I missed my hair.
What was my lie? I have told those who ask that it was stress that caused me to do this. However, it goes beyond the stress I was feeling. It goes back to the little girl who had to go with her mother when she took the girls younger brother to the barber shop. A young girl who wondered why her brother was allowed to have his head buzzed but she could not. A young woman who secretly admired celebrity women who for one reason or another had shaved their heads; although, she went out of her way to make people believe otherwise. A woman who has repeatedly reread a chapter in a story where one of the main characters did something very similar to what I have done for very different reasons. A woman who, now sits writing this exposition of herself with her head recently shorn of irritating stubble and asks why is it sexy for men to be bald but not women?
However, that is not the only lie I have told of this. Recently, when asked to describe myself, I neglected to mention that I shave my head. Instead, I gave a description of what my hair looked like before I rid myself of it. I have even thought of changing my internet identity. I created the screen name BaldMamaT. Then I deleted it. The first time, was because I was going through a period of regret. Then I recovered it, only to delete it again, because I was afraid that if my family discovered that I am proud of what I have done they would not believe my stress excuse.
So now I sit here. I have confessed my sins. Perhaps someone will read this, perhaps not. My fear is the same as all of those who are different from the norms of society whether as a result of choice or fate. What on earth will you think of me? How will you judge me? Even now, I sit here wondering what is thought of me. I will shave again, if not before I go to bed tonight in the morning when I wake before I leave the house. I will put on a scarf or a hat before dropping off the kids so that I will not have to answer with more lies that ever present “Why?” I do not want to answer it! I would not be asked why if I had permed it ever so curly, or dyed it blond or red (although, I would be asked why if I dyed it my favorite color purple – which I might do should I ever let it grow back).
So now, those of you who have taken the time to read this pathetic dribble will get the truth:
I shaved my head because I wanted to! I hated my hair! And I am glad it is gone!
Any regrets that I now have:
Only having to answer the question “Why?”
Well now you have my story and the truth. Perhaps, I shall resurrect BaldMamaT. Then again, should I tire of this, I will always be Amethyst.