Chop Chop.

Driving to my former place of employment, white knuckled the entire way.  I felt nearly on the verge of having a panic attack.  You would have thought I was going sky diving, or getting a tattoo.  No, I was going to get my hair cut.  This irrational fear of getting my hair cut was so real, and so embarrassingly obnoxious all at the same time.

How can I, a hairstylist myself have such a deep sense of fear for cutting her own locks you may ask?

Well, it stems from the fact that, at that point that day, I had yet to ever give my hair a “real” haircut in over ten years.  In high school I screwed up my hair royal and ever since then have been growing it out, and swore to myself that I would never screw it up again.

What is this obsession with long hair? I always wanted it.  When I had it, I never wanted to let it go.  I told Dan only when I was at least 40, or getting gray that I would give myself that big chop.

After months of complaining about my lack luster locks, I knew it was time to take the plunge.  Lucky for me, my best friend Shannon is a fellow hair stylist and I knew she was the only one who would walk me through this snip.

I showed up to the salon, with shaking hands and a giggle all at the same time.  Shannon thankful was right there with me cracking up.  We always talked about giving me a new look, but never had the guts to do it.

Dan kept saying, “Don’t come home with two inches off.” “Just cut it already!” It was then that I understood that no matter what length my hair was it didn’t matter.  My hubs wouldn’t find me any less attractive for it.  That long hair desire was quickly slipping from my veins and I was actually getting excited for the cut once I sat in the chair.

Watching the hair fall to the ground was the most liberating feeling.  All of that build up, the border line panic attack that almost led me straight out the door before even sitting in the chair melted away.  I felt fantastic.

I am in love with my new do’   It is simple to style, so much thicker and healthier.  I am so thankful for Shannon, who literally had to hold my hand a time or two through that 45 minutes.

Letting it go and sweeping it into the trash was cleansing for me.

The drive home was full of smiles, and my white knuckles disappeared.  A new, fresher me for the new year.  A much-needed change, and a new perspective.

Look at that hot mess.