Dear Boys in High School that hated on me,
I cut almost ten inches off my hair this week. The fact that for the last decade you are the reason that I refused to wear my hair short should say a lot about how you effected my impressionable years. For those two years in high school that I dared to sport a pixie the only comments I got from you were insults. I remember how you said it looked like I had been run over by a lawn mower and how you recommended I change my name to Jamie since that was more masculine.
I like to think of myself as one who rises above, who doesn’t let what people say change how I am as a person but in this circumstance I fell into the claws of peer pressure and it has taken me this long to finally climb out of that pool of hate. It doesn’t help that the boys who were making fun of me were the ones that were so adorable. That their dimpled cheeks could sport any hairstyle and still have girls lining up.
Ten years is a long time to be afraid to change my hairstyle. But I did it. And I am so glad that I did. Pulling my hair into a pony every morning for a decade has created a plain and boring style that I have really been harboring some bitterness about but I am just not savvy enough in the styling department to do anything fantastic with it anyway. So when I let the hairstylist cut the ponytail right off my head, I didn’t cry. I felt the weight literally fall off my shoulders.
And I look fantastic. I look like a 30 something year old, mom, wife, and woman. There is no question when I walk outside my door as to who I am as a person and how I should feel. I deserve to be beautiful. And I am beautiful.
I just wanted you to know that I finally put your words in their correct place, the past. Because that is all you are to me. I sure hope that your future has brought you more than a hairstyle you have been afraid to change because I would never wish that kind of insecurity on another person.
That pixie-cut you called a boy