The Ninth Day

I remember I had to work that day.

The ninth day of our relationship.

It was a Saturday, and my boss had me open the office so the students could find rentals before the quarter started.  The office was so busy then.

There was a lull at some point, and I got bored.  I took out my mirror and looked at my hair ~ and suddenly felt an overpowering urge to cut my hair.  So I took out the office scissors and chopped off the back.  When I realized what I had done and how crooked the edges were, I kept cutting until all I had left was a little tail in the back that had been so popular in the 90s.  I ended up having to go down to Thrifty Cuts downtown afterward to have that guy with the long hair finish the job.  
 

And so I had my favorite pixie cut back.

Everything changed on the ninth day.

When I saw my new boyfriend later that evening, he was visually and verbally upset about what I had done.  He questioned why I had not checked with him first before cutting my hair.  He felt he should have a say in how I wore my hair because he preferred long hair on women.  He almost insinuated that I should have asked permission to do such a thing ~ as cutting my hair.

I remember being taken out to pizza shortly after his heated reaction.  His 12-year-old son joined us, and his dad kept asking him what he thought of my hair.  I think the kid liked it, but the conversation was still weird.

The next day, he told me he wanted to take to me Ideal Hair to try on a wig.  He wanted to buy me a long blond wig.  He did not like my hair short.  He seemed to expect me to wear a wig for him until my hair grew back out.

The next weekend we went to Ideal Hair.  I felt like I was in a trance.  Being led to a beauty parlor to try on a wig.  Something tells me his young son may have even come with us.  I cannot really remember because this bizarre memory had been blocked out for so long that it seems like a bit of a blur now.  But I remember the high shelf of mannequins and long-haired wigs.  And trying them on for him ~ one by one.

Luckily, my head is so big (Thanks, Mom!) that none of the wigs fit.  They were all too tight.  And I felt strange looking at myself in the mirror with long fake hair.  Real hair was not used as much back then.  

But the act in itself of allowing myself to be so humiliated by him was the turning point in our relationship.  I did not realize at the time, but I had surrendered to him.  To his power and control.  To his view of the world.  And to his view of me.  From August 11, 2001 on ~ and through the next four years~ I was no longer myself.  I was whoever he tried to make me.  And I always disappointed him.  I was never good enough.  Never thin enough.  Never enough of a woman to cook for him. 

I was the person who had cut my hair without his permission.  And he never let me forget it for the next four years.

I have never cut my hair since then ~ except for trimming the ends.  Even today ~ after 5 1/2 years of separation ~ my hair is still long.

I do not know why.  But in writing this memory right now, I now wonder if the pain of the day is still so raw that I do not want to relive it if I took the scissors to my hair again.  Chopped it off all crooked.  And then made my way down to the long-haired guy at Thrifty Cuts to fix the damage.

One day ~ and probably soon ~ I will get back to the Original Me ~ and I will have short hair again ~ just as beautiful as my mother's wavy hair ~ who always inspired me to still feel beautiful and feminine with short hair.

One day, I will have the cute pixie haircut again.

And then I will know I have come full circle ~ back to the person I once was ~ before power and control took a hold of my life ~ and sent me down a downward spiral to a place of non-existence.

I will have arrived ~ completely ~ at who I am today ~ with the knowledge that no one will ever try to change me again.  And in that moment, I will thank myself for having the courage to be me.