Bare by Lolly Vieira

Self-expression is the driving force behind every act in the creative world: whether it’s art, music, poetry, or the way we decorate ourselves. For many people, hair is one of the most noticeable sign vehicles we have which quickly conveys to the public who we are.

When I was in high school, I went through a few different phases of hairstyles. First there were the side swept bangs that covered half of my face. It was my signature style for a while. Then came the haircut where my bangs completely covered my eyes. It was common for people to ask me how I could even see (much to my amusement and annoyance). It was a very convenient hairstyle for sleeping through my social studies class, but eventually I grew frustrated with feeling too different from my schoolmates and switched back to my “one eye covered” bangs and finished out my education like that. I had a variety of hair colors and hairclips I’d wear as well, but the constant in my hairstyles for over a decade was that I used my hair as a curtain to cover my face- and myself.

I was always a shy kid. In 3rd grade at parent-teacher conferences, my teacher asked my parents to encourage me to talk during class, an unusual request. I never raised my hand, despite usually having the correct answer. I had no friends at recess to play with. I was a silent loner. As I grew older, though I did make a handful of friends, I was never the confident and outspoken one. I always thought of myself as the “background” friend. The one that gets invited because someone next to me was invited and they didn’t want to seem rude. The one that no one missed if someone forgot to invite me. This didn’t change when I got into high school- if anything I only became more aware of my correct assumptions. In retrospect, I now fully understand why I subconsciously desired to hide my face behind my hair. I knew I was just an observer, and I embraced this role because it was familiar and safe.

After high school, I started living in my car and traveling the United States. I talked to strangers every day, empowered by the anonymity. And oddly enough, my confidence began to grow. It was on the road when I decided to undertake one of the bolder hairstyles I’ve ever had- dreadlocks. And while I understand now, ten years later, that this is seen as cultural appropriation to some people, it was something that happened accidentally. I didn’t wash my hair when I lived in my car. I hadn’t become wise to the ways of the road yet. I was eighteen, wild, and dirty. I didn’t care what I said or did in front of people because I knew I could leave the next day if I really embarrassed myself. The only reason my hair turned into dreadlocks was because a friend of mine, Maggie, told me she was either going to separate the knotted mess sitting on my head or shave it off while I was asleep. At the time, I couldn’t imagine myself without hair, I didn’t want to look like a man, so I let her spend an entire day ripping my pillow of a rat’s nest into separate locks. And I kept this style for a while, despite the reality that dreadlocks are much more maintenance than I expected, until I caught lice. Luckily, my roots had been neglected for a while, so I still had a few inches of hair left when I cut my locks off. I hadn’t had short hair since I was 7, but I found the confidence (and relief) to rock my new hairstyle until it grew back into my face-covering side swept bangs again.

The next big development in my hair journey was shaving the side of my head. I moved back to my hometown in the Midwest after years of traveling the West Coast and I hadn’t been prepared for the humidity I had spent so long forgetting. It may not snow in San Diego, but California has nothing on Missouri humidity. I. Was. HOT. But I wasn’t ready to give up my long hair again. Sure, I was a heck of a lot more confident than I was in high school but coming back to my hometown and seeing all the familiar faces made me regress slightly. These were people I knew, people that knew my family, people I was going to see repeatedly and indefinitely as I got a job and started dog grooming school. I had to hide still. But I was “edgy” now, so I shaved the side of my head. It was during this time that I met my son’s biological father. We started up a long-distance relationship and after I graduated from dog grooming school, we decided to hit the open road together. While we were traveling, my son, Aidan, was conceived, so we decided to come back once again to my hometown and try to make a stable life for our family. But things quickly took a dark turn.

I quickly discovered that the person I loved with all my heart didn’t exist. The man I was having a child with turned into someone completely different once we moved into our first apartment together. He wasn’t a man, but a monster. During the first three years of my son’s life, I experienced a lifetime’s worth of trauma. I was beaten, raped, and stalked as I lived in denial, fear, and confusion. I left him and came back more times than I can count. And through it all, one of the only things I could control was my hair. In a year my hair was dark pink, then light pink, then I had purple tips, and then blue streaks. I was even blonde for a while. And I always kept my bangs. Not only was I hiding myself, but I was hiding from him and hiding my pain from the world. I shaved both sides of my head the last time I kicked him out of our apartment. It was impulsive and poorly done, but I craved any semblance of control I could find. I moved back in with my parents soon after because I couldn’t afford to keep living there (financially and mentally). The sexual assault happened after I’d moved into my new apartment. I was trying to civilly co-parent with him, so I let him stay on the couch for a night. I awoke the next morning to find him assaulting me, saying that I asked for it in my sleep. And when he tried to force himself into my apartment the next day by drinking bleach, so I “had” to let him in to help him, I had a friend call the police instead. My whole world changed when the officer handed me a domestic violence packet and I began to realize that this wasn’t a normal or okay relationship. It was that night that I decided to shave my head completely.

Similar to self-harm (which I was not a stranger to), often times the removal of one’s hair can symbolize a need for control. If you’ve ever seen a sad movie where a woman begins crying in the mirror and spontaneously grabs a pair of scissors to cut a chunk of her hair off, you’ll understand what I’m talking about. Well, I needed more than a chunk of control. I was spinning out, I didn’t know who I was or how my life had become this, but I knew one thing for certain- I didn’t want to be beautiful on the outside anymore (although I later learned that my hair had nothing to do with my outer beauty). Aside from the other sexual assaults I’d experienced in life (which at the time I believed to be because of my appearance), I just felt absolutely hideous inside. I felt like a lie, like a pile of dog shit wrapped in a gold bow. What I wasn’t expecting, though, was to find my authentic self from a nervous breakdown.

After I shaved my head, there was no hiding behind my hair anymore. The whole world could see not only every angle of my face, but also my entire head and neck. It felt strange at first, incredibly exposing and vulnerable. Yet, at the same time, I found mountains of confidence that I didn’t even know existed within me. It was with my shaved head that I filed for a restraining order against my son’s father. It was with my shaved head that I decided to pursue a hobby in modeling (which I did for two years). It was with a shaved head that I decided to leave my job that was eating at my soul and to move out of that apartment where I was assaulted, even though it meant breaking my lease, because I deserved to not be traumatized in my own bedroom every night when I went to sleep. It was with my shaved head that I decided to go to college even though I had no money and no idea of how to apply for financial aid (I figured it out and even graduated with an Associate Degree). It was with my shaved head that I started playing open mic nights with my acoustic guitar and my piles of journals full of song lyrics I’d written over the years. It was with my shaved head that I finally decided to start going to therapy. I found that when I had nowhere to hide, my only option was strength.

I’ve now had a shaved head for five years. And though I’ve experimented with growing it out a few inches so I could dye it a different color, I’ve repeatedly come back to my buzz cut. I’ve discovered that the shaved headed version of me is the one I love the most because it’s the me that finally wiped the mud from my eyes and discovered the well of courage within. I am buzzed, beautiful, and real. I don’t care what people think about my appearance because I don’t exist for aesthetic reasons. I’ve learned more about who I am and have even discovered that having my hair in my face was a huge trigger for my sensory processing disorder (which had been previously undiagnosed). I have opened myself up to the spiritual influences that having a shaved head can bring to me. Every day with my shaved head is a day where I am open to connection with the universe, I have stopped fighting against the flow and embraced who I am without needing to change any aspect of myself. I no longer hide, I am bared for all to see.