I Am Samson

A woman’s power lies in her hair. At least, that’s what society tells us. In order to be beautiful, or even mildly pretty, we have to have flowing hair in abundance.

I hate that stereotype. I always have. I hate not feeling pretty enough. I hate being looked at like I’m crazy because I want to do something different with my own hair.

Last year, I shaved my head—partly to raise money for a noble cause, but mostly to raise a middle finger to society’s double standards and sexist views of women in general. At the beginning, I felt many things. I was powerful. I was beautiful. I was a goddess that could bring civilizations to their knees.

But that was only in my mind.

To society, I was an enigma. I was weird and ugly, and I stuck out like a sore thumb. For months, I nearly hated myself because I was so different from everyone else. I let my hair grow long. I told myself that it was time to grow up and that I shouldn’t do that again because I needed to act more professional.

And now, one year later, I’m standing here staring at the aftermath. I look at photos of myself with no hair—smiling, alight with life—and I wish that I could go back and do it all over again.

I want to do it again.

I’m at a crossroads now, and I’m not sure which path I’ll choose. I know the path my heart wants to take. It wants to taste freedom again. It wants to show the world that bald truly is beautiful.

But am I strong enough to go through it again? To face the rejection and the looks and contempt?

Maybe.