I don't know why, but I felt like I was drowning in it. Everyday was this exhausting routine of brushing and combing and trying to make it look presentable and then just throwing it up in a messy bun because it would get caught in bags, bra straps, and armpits. It once got stuck in the car door of my uber on a windy day and even between my bed frame and the wall. And uhhhhh...it was EVERYWHERE.
But also because a part of me sort of became curious of who I was without my hair. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only women out there that feels this way, but my hair is a defining characteristic of who I am. Silly, right? A co-worker was trying to jog the memory of someone who had met me briefly and described me as "Whitney...you know...the one with the pretty hair."
The past few years have been so amazing in so many ways but also really disappointing and tough. It's been full of challenges and heartbreak and, I know this probably sounds so ridiculous, but its like my hair was just hanging on to all of it.
New Hair=New Start? I dunno.
So I just did it. Well, actually Diana did it. I called Mom (who has given me every haircut of my entire life except 3 random trims) and asked if she would fix it next time I saw her, just in case it turned out to be a complete disaster.
And then we went for it.
And after the first few seconds of shock wore off...I felt so good!!!! So light, so relieved, and so ME! It's not a pixie cut and I didn't dye it purple or anything too drastic. Just 15 inches of dead life gone.

