The Not-My-Problem Mentality

I'm watching a documentary called "Thin" produced by HBO. It is, as the title suggests, about women dealing with anorexia. I had to start writing right here, right in the middle of the show, because guess what one of the girls is dealing with in the midst of her treatment? INSURANCE!!!!

This country has to change what it's doing. I'm watching this very, very sick young lady -- so sick with anorexia that she has been hospitalized and force-fed over the last 10 years on almost every birthday, plus other holidays! -- and she's being forced to go home by her insurance company, which decides based upon its arbitrary policy that it's time for her to be "treated," time for her to be "well."

When I tell my own story of insurance bullshit to others, everyone thinks it's horrible and can't believe the b.s. that I am expected to pay out-of-pocket for, AND that I got this nice "benefit" as reward for over a year's full-time work at a major American company. And of course am working on my situation now that I am well enough to do so. But I do believe that this, THIS woman's situation, takes the damn cake. I mean, thanks be to God I don't have a condition that causes me to be an inpatient in a treatment facility and incur all of those costs (well, not most of the time anyway)! To some extent, I am able to control when I make my doctor appointments; and when I communicate with most of my docs about my situation, they are pretty understanding. For example, they will try to work with me over the phone and do as much as they can at one appointment so that we can have as few face-to-face meetings as possible. They understand (and have vehemently voiced their agreement) that my situation with insurance is ridiculous, and I'm paying for everything.

But these women! What are they supposed to do? I'll just tell you that the young lady in this example was fortunate enough that her father volunteered to pay for her care after insurance ran out. And I think that's how most people get residential care, whether it is for mental illness, eating disorders, drug addictions, or whatever. Just look at the fancy "rehab" facilities available to the celebrities and their family, the ones we read about like Britney and Lindsay and Mel Gibson have recently gone to. And think about where the "other" people had to go, if you know anyone in your life who has dealt with these problems, anyone who isn't rich like the aforementioned folks.

I've heard it said over and over again by Republicans and those of the conservative mind-set that this type of problem is one that people "bring on themselves." The opponents to change, the opponents to healthcare reform, etc., constantly rail against our society's offering to help those in this type of need. Well, I have a lot to say to those people: Just like nearly ALL of you have taken that first (and second and third...) sip of alcohol in your life, just like nearly ALL of you have done that restrictive diet when you wanted to lose weight, and just like many of you have even tried marijuana and other illicit drugs while out for a "fun" night ... These people who are suffering did that same thing with the same intentions. You should say nothing except to count your fucking blessings that you do not have this pathology, that you do not have this genetic predisposition, that you are not sick from something that crept up on you during normal activities that a billion other people do in their lives.

Just think about it before you take measures to deny your fellow Americans assistance or carry on about how it isn't your problem.

Okay, One More D-MN Political Post ...

...I've been reading a lot today, even more than usual! Is it wrong to spend your day reading newspapers and magazines and books when you are supposed to be studying and organizing medical paperwork instead? I mean, I'm doing some valuable stuff ... It's just that, um, I'm gonna have to work hard tomorrow! ... So, be that as it may, I've been watching the news shows and perusing the gossip sites today. Just catching up on the weekend happenings (I'll deal with Lindsay Lohan in one of these upcoming blogs, ohhh yes). So I guess it's just par for the course that I'm catching a lot of these political

Right now I'm writing this while partially watching "The Joy Behar Show." Against all of my predictions and my better judgment, I began watching this -- it was a given, um, given that it follows my absolute favorite thing to watch: Ms. Nancy Grace's show. Well, I still don't particularly like Joy Behar's demeanor and persona on "The View," but she is very different on her own show. She seems more comfortable, more authentically herself (not that I know this, but she comes across as very comfortable in her own skin), and the lady does a good interview! So I'm watching, and there's all this business about Sarah Palin, and no, I can't seem to escape politics all of the sudden. Sheesh. I am working on an article right now, the details of which must remain under lock and key for the time being...Mainly because I do not know yet what they are. But a part of my focus is Sarah's portrayal of herself as a victim of a gender-based double standard. Oh, Sarah Sarah Sarah. What exactly is the double standard? I mean, I don't think many would argue that I have many feminist leanings and am typically quite quick to defend my sisterhood on matters where I feel we are being discriminated agains and treated unfairly in any other way. I like to push the limits of what is expected of us ... right now, it's my haircut, next up, who knows? But I don't need to go on defending me. Let my writing and my life speak about that ...

Mrs. Palin feels (or says she feels) that it's a double standard for the people to criticize anything to do with her appearance and her clothing choices, because they just don't do that where men are concerned. But I beg to differ! Yes, I heard a lot of critiquing of Hilary Clinton's brightly colored and questionably tailored dress suits at times. Hell, I was ready to be first in line to take a job as her stylist! I had plenty of better ideas for her wardrobe and what would flatter her! But whatever; because there were loads of people on the blogs and on TV making fun of John Edwards' pretty-boy hair and the rumored cost of his salon visits. People would often criticize our former President Bush II for dressing a little too casually for occasions or places they thought deserved more "respectful" attire. And certainly we have all heard people weigh in on both Obamas' clothing, hair, and overall style. If you haven't, take a second listen. Let's make sure we aren't just hearing what we want to hear in order to prove our hypothesis.

Hate Never Helps ... Do I Really Have to State This Fact???

I just have to "go there" on this one. I don't usually write about politics for a variety of reasons. It's not what I make my blog about, although it is about any and everything, when the mood strikes! Today, I am pissed.

What is the big brouhaha over President Obama and his bow to Emperor Akihito over the weekend? No, really. What is it? I'd love to know the truth of what is really behind this outrage. Because it is clearly not about the bow. The worst of the worst "news" I read about this matter today, which I am definitely not going to publicize by linking to, discussed that No, the bow was not unprecedented ... But when Fmr. President Richard Nixon showed similar respect for the culture in the country where he was a guest, he didn't bow as low. Ah. That explains everything. I mean, if Obama didn't bow, that would not be respectful ... no one had a fuckin' problem when he learned some of the customs expected of him by the Queen of England (oh, I'm sure probably someone did, silly me). It's only when countries of color, of other race so to speak, are involved, that every move the President makes in their company is criticized.

I mean, please. To me, the President's behavior doesn't really even need explaining and certainly doesn't need defending. This, for me, is an outrageous non-issue, ridiculous and deeply personal as opposed to any sort of critique of the man's performance as a leader or a public servant, the public servant. Since Obama was elected, the group that hates him, has been stomping its feet and throwing a collective tantrum. They just cannot believe that there isn't something they can do to make his Presidency not-so! Just like The Rest of Us had to sit there and twiddle our thumbs while W. was in office. If you vote for the one that loses, that is what happens. It takes place every single election in our system of government. But this time, the Bush sympathizers are just so spoiled by their recent run, their recent domination of the country and pillaging of the Constitution and government services ... I suppose it seemed for awhile like that party would never end.

They cannot stand the fact that he was elected. They cannot stand the fact that he was elected and he's a Democrat. They cannot stand the fact that he was elected and he's black. They cannot fathom that he was elected and is now, in fact, working hard to effect changes on his agenda. As for that last point, um, what else would anyone expect the President of a party opposing the last one to do? Every step he takes, every move, is met with shock. They can't believe his ideals or opinions or existence. The campaign against Obama is born of true, pure hatred of the man himself (rather than the type of differences and discourse that have always shaped America and kept our Democracy alive). It is a hatred so ugly that I count my blessings rarely to have seen it first-hand in my life. And I have been even luckier to have experienced it directed toward me even fewer times in my life.

Well ... in my opinion, there is nothing else to say. I don't believe that anyone in his right mind would honestly think that the President is telling us with his actions to "bow low in submission to the other countries in the world," as one editorial alleged. All I could say in response was Give me an effin break. If all you can criticize is that he didn't bow correctly or behave the way you wanted him to in another culture ... Well, that is truly a compliment.

New Themes

I've been wanting to get this going for awhile: pick a day or days of the week and on that day post a little bit about a lot of topics that are on my mind or that I have recently written about here or that are current events, etc.

First of all, I had to get back to writing anything frequently, of course! I'm on a roll in that department. I'm so grateful for my loyal blog readers. This little site is just getting off the ground, and there is so much I still want to do with it. My editing and writing need to be polished, and I'm going to do a few things differently with the layout. I had the great fortune of emailing back and forth with a very successful guy who is a consultant; he became successful at a young age and now works with huge companies and makes pretty huge money. His main work is that he consults with all different types of companies and organizations about how they can use social networking sites to increase their sales and other marketing goals. He also has always written blogs for fun. I didn't think he'd have much time to give me any pointers when I contacted him, if he even responded at all, but he did! He wrote me a very in-depth and generously helpful email with all sorts of tips on how to get noticed in the vast sea of blogs and websites out there. Awesome!

So far, I've kept it mostly about the writing and the stories/topics themselves, but I realize that to be effective, the blog has to do it all ... Meaning, I need to have interactive things going on (like Tom's Hideaway -- see my sidebar, to the right -- where you can feed Tom's virtual fish!) and links to Facebook, Twitter and the like. I'm excited to build this up! But I'm taking my time. In the immediate future, it's still going to be all about perfecting my writing and choosing a pattern or a few core topics, etc. If anyone has ideas or suggestions or something they liked on here, feel free to share. It was recently suggested that I submit the two-part head-shaving story to a magazine. I'm in the process of researching which mags it might be best suited for and what their submission rules are. Then I will clean it up and send it. Can't hurt!

More to come later, when I'll be trying out something new...

Part II - The Reaction

In my last post, I related my personal experience of how and why and when I shaved my hair into a buzz-cut, a style I am currently sporting again (albeit a tiny bit longer these days). I did it on a week night, and I was thrilled. I spent that night enjoying the look and feel of my new, spiky, short, light hair. My head felt unbelievabley light-weight. It was insane how many times I was surprised to find no hair swinging or falling against my back. I never got used to it, it seemed.

That year, although I was not altogether unprepared for it, I found out that our heads really do release half or more of our body heat! This is wonderful in the hot summers; a simple splash of ice cold water on my un-mussable hair makes a world of difference. But in winter time, I had never before been so cold! I'm one of those always-cold girls anyway, so I had to think fast of a solution. That was the first year I shopped for new and stylin' hats to wear. It was a lot of trial and error. Sometimes the hats were too itchy (I cannot wear wool at all, not even for a second!), some too childish despite looking "cute" at the store, some too big for my (another new discovery) smaller-than-average adult head. But I found what I liked and what flattered me eventually. It was a new piece of my wardrobe in a way, something new to try out. It is still amazing to me how much difference a warm hat makes when I am cold!

But what you really want to know is whether my worst fears came true ... whether no boys ever like me again ... right!? Well, they did. But some didn't. I wore a hat to work that next morning, for my very first unveiling. It would be in front of the owner of my workplace, a man who had become a second father to me, a member of my second family. I saw him everyday, he had been with me and there for me through some very intimate times, and he had brought out my leadership skills before I even knew I had them. But I knew that he was among the most conservative people in my world. Regarding politics and clothing and just ways of living life in general, the man was Conservative. Our conversations had revealed that his taste in lifestyle was making money, having a wife who mainly stayed home and raised the children and prepared food and laundry for the family, and who looked, well, traditional: longish hair, preppy, etc. Now don't get me wrong, all of you who might sway toward the same preferences. There is nothing wrong with wanting and having these things or this lifestyle. It just isn't quite the same as what I personally strive for. But I don't see myself or my views as better or worse, merely different. My boss was pretty much the same. I had worked for him for years at that point, and he respected me. He accepted me as being "different" to his way of thinking. We teased each other about our differences but worked well as a team. It was like that.

Nevertheless, I was nervous as I approached the door of the restaurant where he was already inside working. I came in, and he greeted me, barely looking up, working on something at his desk as I recall. I remember blurting out, "I need to get this over with and show you what I did." I admit that I was feeling less "liberated" and "excited" and more fearful and like a little kid, wondering whether she would be grounded for something. But feigning the confidence that had deserted me, I whipped off my winter hat: Ta-da! I think I could have predicted his reaction.

"Oh. My. Frickin'. God!" He stood up and began walking slowly around me, peering at each side and angle of my head. "What the hell did you do that for?" But he was smiling. He was surprised but not shocked. Not disgusted. In our relationship, he was usually at least amused by my constant changes of hair color and style or whatever. And that was fine with me. He came from a different walk of life, completely. And like I said, we teased each other but respected one another's opinions. The rest of the business day went along alright, with other emmployees exclaiming when they saw me and asking whether there was a specific reason I had done this. At least half of the people who spoke to me about it said they liked it! My boss kept up the peering and laughing and staring. It was difficult to get used to, for me too.

I could tell, as those first days went on, that people were most disturbed by the fact that they wanted to know what this meant. My own mother took time out to ask me whether I had done this because of any sort of emotional upheaval or upset. She said if I truly just liked it and wanted my hair gone, then she supported whatever. But she wanted to know that I wasn't suffering silently through something and acting out with this drastic change. Oh my! I assured her that it was the former, and that was true.

I can't say that it came as a surprise to me that I became my own walking, living, breathing social experiment. Contrary to what some people think, I never did this to get attention or in order to become such an experiment. I did it for the reasons already explained. I accepted whatever "consequences" came of my choice to do what made me feel the best. The main social consequence was that people always want to talk to me about my haircut. Whether they are curious, admiring, aghast, disgusted, or attracted, they want to tell me about it. A lot of girls I know who have extreme haircuts or shaved heads claim that they find this behavior rude, that they are offended at people's willingness to say whatever they think. That view never occurs to me really. I mean, if you do something that is not average or right in the middle of what is normal, I just think you can expect people to be curious. And their reasons for being curious might be any of the ones I listed. It doesn't usually bother me.

So what about the men? The main thing that women say to me (and it was the same for most of the other females I talked to while researching for this little story) is that they wish they could "pull it off" or "have the guts" or something to that effect. I always am encouraging, telling them how happy I was to try it; but of course, you have to feel like I did or it can be quite traumatic. GUYS, on the other hand, come with all sorts of opinions. I guess it shouldn't be a shock to find that it's often a cultural thing. For example, I rarely meet a black man who does not really like my cut. Black guys in clubs have stopped me to tell me it's "clever" and "sharp" and "hot." None have ever stopped to share their opinion if it was negative. And that brings me to something that really bothered me at first: black women are often seen rocking nearly-bald heads. I know that the whole issue of hair with black women is a huge, expensive, sensitive ordeal, and I'm not trying to pretend I know about that (although I'm excited to go see Chris Rock's documentary, "Good Hair"); so I am guessing that when a black woman grows weary of all that maintenance, that might be a major reason for cutting it all off. But whatever the reason, having extremely short hair, whether it's natural and close-cropped or dyed a shade of blond or whatever style ... that's accepted in our society. When I say it's accepted, I mean, nobody thinks a black woman with a shaved head is punk or counter-culture or rebellious, do they? It's just a style. But when I rock my shaved head, it's like I am explaining here: a bevy of opinions come out, and they run the gamut. And like some of the females interviewed say, people feel they have a RIGHT to some crazy opinions. I struggled with that race issue at first. I couldn't understand why I was being looked at if another girl right next to me with the same exact haircut but a different color skin was being considered "normal." Going into race / society issues is something that I will delve into more deeply another time, because it deserves an entire blog post. But that was one interesting thing and one that I admit puzzled and frustrated me.

Back to MEN. On the flipside of getting a lot of acceptance from black guys, I found that almost NO Latino men had appreciation for my cut. I have quite a few friends of this ethnicity, so we felt free to talk to one another in a real way. They told me basically that they just thought women should have long, luscious hair and in that way be different from men. All the guys I spoke to told me they loved having their hands and fingers in some long, female hair. It was sexy, they said. Fair enough. As for white guys, well, they always say something different. It just depends, in my experience. And of course, to all of these rules, there are exceptions, and I'm sure that if I conducted this "experiment" in another part of the world, I would find altogether different trends. But I was here, in the Chicago suburbs, in the late '90's, and these were the reactions.

I can't say they have changed very much. There aren't as many references to Sinead O'Connor, as she doesn't seem to be as famous anymore. I saw her in a magazine recently, though, and she indeed still has her hair like this. I think I'm more comfortable than some women would be with this haircut, because I have some prominent facial features that are easily made even more noticeable with a little more makeup and less hair. My best feature was never my hair. Nothing wrong with it really, but I also was never attached to it. A close female friend recently told me that she feels her own best feature is her hair; and it IS beautiful. I can imagine someone who feels that way would have a much different experience if forced to lose her hair.

For me, it was not traumatic, but it WAS interesting to notice all the ways that I, as a woman had come to rely on my hair. I mean, we flirt with our hair, we have habits of twirling and fiddling with it, we use it to draw attention away from a tired or un-made-up face. I noticed that a lot of times guys will see long, beautiful hair and approach a woman or whistle at a woman or whatever before even getting a very good look at her face. I began to look at the chicks who were considered classically hot and wonder where they would fall on the hotness scale without their hair. It seemed the ways and meanings that we as a society attach to hair were never-ending. I felt it too; it took some plain old getting-used-to for me to be comfortable without my ponytail.

People look at me. They stare at me a lot more than when I had long hair. Even when they don't say anything, I know that it is because they have an opinion about my head. And of course, people offer their thoughts, more than they did when I had a more traditional 'do. But they are mostly friendly. And maybe I have grown more comfortable in myself, or maybe society has shifted a little bit ... I can't be sure. But recently it hasn't seemed like such a big deal. I have some tattoos, and when they are visible, THOSE are what seem to draw more controversy. And no, I generally do not get hooted and hollered at when walking down the city streets by men I don't know. Drunken bar guys do not approach me as often as they do my longer-haired companions. But I have found that I don't miss that kind of attention too much. It kind of weeds out that type of dude. I mean, for me anyway, I am not so much interested in starting a relationship with a drunk guy whistling in my general direction. It's fun to be flirted with, and I still get that in the right places, but I have just found that there are some kinds of attention I don't need.

If I ever change my mind, there are some very fancy wigs available these days!

I Shaved My Head, But WHY????

Once upon a time, I shaved my head. Unlike my friend Lisa, who did this recently (and whom I called attention to, because she inspires me) in reaction to the fact that her hair was falling out (she is fighting cancer) ... unlike Lisa, I was not fighting an illness. I have known several females who have shaved their heads bald because they suffer from cancer or alopoecia or went through brain surgery ... a number of things that made it more or less necessary. Some have shaved their heads in support of these females. Socially, this seems to make it more acceptable. When the masses find that you have shaved your hair off because of something like those reasons, they feel much more comfortable (like that is a woman's job anyway, to make everyone around them comfortable ... ha). For better or worse, my story was not like that.

And yet, it wasn't meant to make a statement. It wasn't meant to be a rebellion against anything or anyone. I just didn't want the hair anymore. Doesn't anyone else ever feel that way? Also, in case anyone needs a mental picture of exactly what happened, I shaved it only to a # 2 razor cut (if you know clippers, this is one of the guards you can use to measure how short the hair will get). So my hair was not cut to the scalp, but it was very short. For a woman, it was extremely short. Okay, and it didn't help that the very first time I did it, I made one little mistake and took a knick out of the back of my head. Oops. I didn't want that kind of extra attention, but I had to suffer through it.


It all started sometime in the previous year or so. I had a long, dark, swinging ponytail. I wore my hair like that, in a ponytail or tightly-wound bun at least 6 days a week while I worked my job as a fast-food manager. My shifts were 9 hours long, and I had to have my hair up. It wasn't that I minded putting my hair up. I thought it looked alright, I got compliments sometimes -- wait, no, I really did not get compliments on my hair at that time; it was more that I got compliments on things my hair accentuated, like my eyes or long neck. Wrapping that thick-ass hair (and it IS thick) into a squishy bun was the best way I knew how to let it air-dry out of my way. I have never learned to do cool things with my long hair; or, whenever I think I have learned, my hair has not "held" the style I've worked so hard upon for very long. I don't know for sure whether it's me or the hair. And I'm not the kind of person who has the patience to spend more than a few minutes on something like hair.



To tell you about me, and the time I'll allow for appearance-related duties each day ... I remember being 14-years-old and making a decision. I was a very disciplined little girl, always creating schedules and routines for myself. My parents were not as strict with me as I was with me! Maybe they didn't have to be, because I did it for them. In the summertimes, it was like I knew already that I would fall into boredom and despair if I did not plan ahead. It just came naturally to me, no one told me to do it. I find that so peculiar now. But anyway, if you look at my notebooks and journals from that time, I would always have my days planned -- I mean, right down to each hour -- with things like working out, tennis lessons, and working on my annual newspaper, which was a project I did just for fun each summer. And I was happy that way! To this day, there is little more unsettling to me than a day that just stretches out before me with no real plan. Although I have to admit that in recent years, I haven't always been so disciplined, and that is part of my problems and issues now. But that's going to be another post!



So, I was careful and diligent about my time. I decided at 14 that of course I wanted to be clean and pretty and "done" when I arrived at school each day. I wore a little bit of makeup, and I had long hair (a bit past my shoulders) that was highlighted that year. However, I decided that with all the options available to teenage girls (and all of us women) for hair and make-up and styling and fashion, one could spend an infinite amount of time and energy each day preparing. And while nobody said this or taught this to me explicitly, it occurred to me that for me, there had to be a limit. For me, that limit was going to be one hour. I don't know how I reached this conclusion at that age. My own mother, who was my main make-up and hair influence leading up to that time, would probably not agree. I just thought that there were only so many hours in each day for all my interests and priorities and responsibilities, okay? And while I wanted to look good and meet high school boys and all that, I also wanted to play sports and study English literature, and sleep and read and write. So I decided that I would spend one hour each morning getting beautiful, and after that, I would leave it alone.



That worked great, actually! I knew everyday that I had put my best effort into all those little details that we girls like to pay attention to, knew that I had worked my hardest on matters of appearance. As my mother would say, I had "put my best foot forward." If I felt I had spent that one hour doing that, then I didn't fuss over these things or obsess about them throughout the day. As a teenager, this was truly a feat. Because it wasn't lost on me that worrying you had a fucked-up hair do or not the right makeup or whatever throughout an entire school day can be utterly demoralizing at that age.



But back to the year of the shaved head. I was working at the restaurant, going to college, and those tasks pretty much took up my time. I dated a lot, but my priority was not finding a husband or even getting a date for that weekend. If you know me, you know it really never has been about that. My priority if and when I had free time was to get ahold of friends and go out somewhere fun and relaxing. Most of my time was about work, making money and getting closer to that college degree. That doesn't mean, however, that I didn't appreciate anytime a guy would flirt with me. The restaurant drew mostly construction workers, middle-aged family men and families with children. It wasn't a great pool of single guys. The ones that did come in were definitely the type to go for a buxom, long-haired blond, 9 times out of 10, and a few of my co-workers fit that bill. In the flirting wars, they almost always outshone me.



I understood that this was more about the type of person in our "audience" than it was about me, my personality or my looks. It also sucked to wear the uniform I had to wear as a manager there. And despite the fact that I sometimes was bothered by this, it was never at the forefront of my mind or on my list of Important Issues in My Life. I was tired of my hair. I was just plain sick of how long it took to dry, how difficult it was to make it look pretty when it was down, to keep it from engulfing or competing with my rather dramatic facial features (large eyes, big smile, European nose). It has the rather-unfortunate (in my opinion) combination of being both fine and thick. The individual strands of hair are fine and in the winter become staticky and flyaway-y. Yet the sheer amount of hair on my head is thick and heavy when it's long. I felt by the time I had reached my 20's that I was always fighting it. That hour I had allocated for getting ready each morning? I had begun to spend the majority of it fighting and wrestling with my hair. I resented this fact, wishing I could experiment with new make-up looks, drawing attention to my eyes, which usually get me the most compliments. And after I had fought my hair, it almost always came to pass that I didn't like how it looked. So what was the point of all of it?



That was the beginning of the end. One day it just crossed my mind: what if I just cut it all off? I mean, people say this all the time, but they don't usually mean it. Well, I thought about what it would mean to say it and do it. To cut it all OFF. It could be liberating for all the reasons I listed above; I would be free of all the trouble and annoyance my hair caused me. My next thought was, would it be worth it? I mean, really, the social consequences felt like they would be mighty. I have always suspected that this is because I live in the midwest. I don't think that anyone would look twice at me in New York City, for example, as a woman with a shaved head. But in the heartland, where people hold to traditional values and many people still rock their sweatshirts with applique seasonal designs on the front, and stretchy blue jeans, out to dinner ... well, you get the idea. Then, throw in the group that surrounded me, the construction worker dudes and guys from the bank and a few cops who at that time had only one woman on their department. I didn't see how shaving my head would appeal to them.



The more I thought about it, the more desirable it seemed TO ME. And the more I realized that my one sticking point was just that: the social upheaval that I was afraid would come of my actions, especially from men. Now, I have been fortunate to have great women around me, women as friends and family, about whom I never really worried. If anything, they were the ones who spurred me on, before I even showed anyone. I knew my girl group would love and support me no matter what I ever did with my hair. My girls always supported acts of courage and bucking the status quo, whether it was in society or at work or just in one's choice of clothes and hair.



I had to admit it. The only thing that was holding me back was my fear that BOYS WON'T LIKE ME ANYMORE. And guess what. When I realized that was my one sticking point, the ONLY thing keeping me from doing something I wanted to do, something that might be really liberating and fun ... and that was easily changeable, as my hair would begin growing back the minute I stopped shaving it ... I began to be angry and disgusted with MYSELF. So I thought more and more, it's either me or them ... I was going to live and make my decisions based on what THEY might think and how they will react OR I was going to live for me. The choice was obvious. I never make choices for anyone else if it stands in opposition to what I know is good for me, will make me happy.



So I made my decision. One night, when I had plenty of time and solitude, I chopped my ponytail off. I then carefully cut all but little, short tufts of hair off my head. There was no stopping. I plugged in the clippers, and I copped Sinead O'Connor's style. It was deliciously terrifying! I took my time, going over and over my head to get all those plucky hairs exactly the same length. I marveled while discovering the shape and length of my long neck. I could see the shape of my skull. I learned that I had to shave closer on the ridge which did not heal quite right on the top middle of my head (they were still using foreceps on babies when I was born). It was awesome. I was happy with my decision.



Everyone wants to touch a bald or shaved-short head, and I was no exception. It felt so funny to me, and it was fun to touch! You know that phenomenon of how, when you put your hair into a ponytail for several hours, you take it down and that spot where it was pulled kind of aches?? Well, my entire head felt that way for nearly two weeks!! I have since spoken to some guys who said they had this same experience. It's like the follicles are used to being pulled a different direction by the long hair, and suddenly they are not being pulled by the now-lightweight hair. So it kind of ached and itched. There were all sorts of little and new things like that with my new haircut.



Since then, I have re-grown my hair, but not as long as it was before the shave. It seems to grow pretty damn fast. I wonder sometimes if I will ever be able to grow it to ponytail length or whether that ship has sailed for me. People say that sometimes you reach a point where your hair will no longer grow past a certain length. I'm not sure I will ever have the patience to find out. Once I had cut that hair off, I really haven't ever wanted it back for very long. As many readers know, I usually keep it some version of short or shorter these days, stopping sometimes to grow it for awhile.

In Part 2 of this post (coming later or tomorrow!), I will tell you the story of the way society and my world in particular reacted and still reacts today. As for me, I have never been happier or felt more ... ME. I spend my "free" time in the mornings experimenting (like I had always wanted) with different eye make up, from golds to green and purple, or just some black-rimmed cat-eyes. With very short hair, I don't like to leave the house without ANY make-up. After all, my goal was never to look like a boy. I pay more attention to my wardrobe most of the time too; and I use my time (and money!) freed up from fussing with hair to do that as well. Every now and then, I do go to my stylist and have her trim my hair into a professional shape and cut, to make sure it's done properly. But most of the time, I just use my own clippers (I've invested in a reasonably good pair) to do this cut; it's nearly foolproof and I've gotten very practiced now. Today before I jump in the shower I am taking my hair back to a # 3, something I haven't done in awhile; that is part of what spurred me on to writing this post. I'm taking my look back (almost) to where it began. You can touch it if you want.

Ventilation (Pure Venting)

I am in such a bad mood. I know, I know, what a quick turnaround! I'm not normally a mood-swinger; at least, I haven't been in quite awhile, not since I've had recently-mentioned treatments and help for various ailments / issues. I mean, a girl sometimes has a "mood swing" because actual shit is happening to cause all different emotions. I consider that quite different from just spazzing out for no reason.

And tonight (this morning) I have reason. I'm writing about it here (not linking anywhere else, but if you're reading this, then welcome, you've found it on your own) for my own mental health ... and so that afterward I can go to sleep. My mind tends to work like that: if I can just write the crap down on paper (or digitally as the case may be), then it feels as though I have actually removed the trash from within. Good.

I'm fighting an old, familiar urge to loathe myself, to feel unreasonably lonely, sort of ... small and embarrassed about who I am ... a general sense of wanting to be very tiny and very quiet, unseen and unheard. The worst part of this feeling, which is something I began to feel before I knew any better, waaaaay back in my youth, is that it is really a feeling of wishing that I had already been quieter and smaller than I have. Does that make any sense? It's like, wherever I sit right now, literally as well as metaphorically, I wish that I could take back any revealing details of myself that I have shared with the world. I guess that is wanting to hide really. Yeah. What happens is ... I can be going along fine, feeling well about myself and the world around me, but something happens to trigger me, and then I'm in THIS place. I have finally learned, in my recent adult years, that this is a habit (yes, I learned that our negative thinking patterns and feelings too can be habits ... and yay, habits can be broken, but boo, it's difficult) I developed as a child. Incidents would happen back then that taught me to feel this way; and maybe in those cases it was indeed a good decision or wise for me to clam up and not share myself with those around me, to want to hide from them. Maybe certain people around the young me could not understand me the way I needed them to, and maybe they were capable of causing great pain and injury to that little me. So I learned this feeling.

The problem is that I don't need it now. As a woman -- a strong, independent, free-spirited and free-thinking woman, woot!-- I do not need to shrink away from anything or anyone in this world. I believe truly that any person or body of persons who would attempt or desire to make me feel that I wanted to shrink from them are completely useless to me and not worth my time or my feelings or my shrinking power :) (Ha ha, I'm making myself laugh, that's better already!)

Tonight's incident was so unexpected and ... well, yes, that describes it. Given the topic of the conversation that was had, I would never in a billion years have predicted that this is what would come of it. But now I feel very small, very wrong in every way, just wrong as a person, like the things I have said and done and even the way I look, the way that I LIVE, is wrong.

Damn. That is powerful. It is a power I wish I would not give away to other human beings, not to anyone. It is a power that I do not wish to use upon anyone, including myself. I mean, to render someone so unsure, so unsteady, so cut-down ... it's brutal. It's not about feeling sorry for myself. No, this is different. This is what happens when you have not learned to take criticism or learned to differentiate types of comments made by those around you, learning when and how to take them, when and how to be sensitive to what they are.

(I love to change the font colors, I guess it keeps me from boring myself!). I just want to say something here for myself and for anyone who reads my words. It's a mini-manefesto of sorts. It's a state of the union of my soul. I have been through a lot, down a long and winding road, through the brambles. I expect to go through more but not like that. I am determined and hopeful that the worst is over, especially where physical and emotional illness and strife are concerned. Just that sentence, that hope, that fact alone is a GIANT. It's a THING that brings me to my knees in awe. This is my life- my big, bold, beautiful, bedazzled life. And there's more ...

Having been through those brambles, fought through all of that ... I recognize that now is the Transition. Soon it will be time to embark upon What Happens Next. This is not the time to explain, but I know deep within, I just know, that it isn't time yet. It isn't time to embark upon my great journey yet, not time yet to embark upon what can be simply and magnificently described as the Rest of my life. Rather, right now, today, and probably tomorrow, and maybe for awhile longer ... This is just time to BE. I'm not sure what, if much, will happen to me or take place in my life or my in my relationships during this time. All I know is that I have come home from war, and now there is time for rest, there is opportunity, and there is occasion for hope. I recognize the need to absorb all of that. I recognize the need to reflect on all that has transpired, to process things that I was unable to process while they happened. I need to sleep. I need to play. I need to pet my cat. I need to watch TV. Doing nothing. Doing something. Thinking about what it is that I like to do, need to do, want to do. This is the Transition.

I rarely have anxiety or concern about the Next bit. That will come when it comes and its shape will be whatever it will be. There are times in life when it is necessary to grab that proverbial bull by the horns and MAKE it do something; but other times, it is necessary to refrain from such aggression. This is where I am and who I am. I am completely at peace with it. In fact, as I've recently expressed in many ways, I am overjoyed about many things that are taking place and unfolding. I am thrilled about the many things that are giving me hope right now, the reasons I have to smile and wake up each day. Abundance. People in the western world, myself right in there among them, do not often have the time or inclination or opportunity to think about or learn about or put to use these ideas about Doing Nothing and my theory about the Transition. And maybe not everyone needs to focus upon such things in her life. All I know is that right now, I am here, and I am good, and I need to remain focus on where I am and what is good.