"I'm as free as my hair, I am my hair"

Growing up, the closest thing I had to a sister was my cousin, Laura.  Our birthdays were only 5 weeks apart and we spent every holiday and most of our summers together. Throughout our lives, we often were mistaken as actual sisters because of our uncanny physical likeliness; same blue eyes, noses, cheeks, and smile. But one thing always separated us, especially as young children. Hair. Laura had the longest, thickest blonde hair even when we were toddlers. I, however, couldn't grow my stringy wispy hair past my ears no matter how hard I tried.  My bowl hair cut, alongside my father's insistence I wear pants at all times due to my propensity to hang upside down on monkey bars, made me resemble a very cute little boy. Looking at the Barbies that Laura and I shared, I realized that something was definitely wrong with my appearance. From a very young age, I wanted nothing more than the long hair that my cousin adorned. So, I sought advice from aunt, Laura's mother. "Never let your mother cut your hair." From then on, every trip to the hair salon was a battle of insurmountable proportions. Ending in my victory over the stylist's scissors, my hair finally grew long and thick. I was obsessed with styling and playing with long hair. I taught myself intricate braiding techniques and held styling sessions before school dances.

Fast forward fifteen years, faced with my diagnosis and the looming inevitability of hair loss, I decided to cut my hair off and donate it. Initially, this decision was based mostly in practicality; pulling out long strands of hair can be difficult and messy, but over time, I have realized its completely changed my view of beauty and self-image. Having short hair as a woman has had a storied history in negative stereotypes.  Traditional perceptions of feminine beauty is almost always depicted with long flowing locks. As somewhat of a jock in high school and growing up with mostly male friends, I tried to keep my long hair as a reminder and affirmation of my own femininity, always fearful that I would otherwise be depicted as ugly or undesirable. I was always overwhelmed and frightened by the idea of short hair until I finally built up the courage to cut it. Since then, I have never felt more liberated in my life.

When you are diagnosed with a serious illness, your first priority becomes your health and wellness. I had no room to be concerned about my appearance facing the preliminary steps of testing and treatment.  However, as I have become more comfortable and established in my daily routine and treatment schedule, I have come to appreciate the ease and comfort of short hair.  I am no longer concerned with being skinny or adhering to the Barbie doll image that always bothered my subconscious. My definition of beauty has become centered around feeling strong and comfortable physically, mentally, and emotionally. Now as I face the very real possibility of losing all of my hair, I feel a sense of peace about it. The last few days, I have been pulling out hairs strand by strand and although annoying, the loss of my hair doesn't feel as I had initially anticipated. 

I have come to realize that cancer is about loss.  Going into this process I am mourning the loss of a semester of college and the ability to share time with my friends and while I thought that I would be mourning the loss of my beloved hair, cancer has actually given me the feeling of freedom from the emotional attachment I had to my hair. My perceptions of beauty are finally liberated from the external forces that once drove them. While I'll still sign up to French braid anyone's hair, no longer does my hair define me. So I'll have to disagree with Lady Gaga and her song "Hair".  I am NOT my hair.