I chopped off my identity crisis

I know I'm not the first person to think you can just bleach away the old parts of ourselves we no longer want to see.

Our hair is one of the first things people notice about each other, so we use it to introduce ourselves. A clean bob because you're a working woman who doesn't have time to style it everyday, beachy waves with highlights because you are care-free and eternally sun-kissed, or half shaved because F the gender roles society has chained us to. Of course these are just stereotypical generalizations, but you'd be lying if you said you have never met anyone who fits at least one of these descriptions.

I won't go into how unfair it is to judge or make assumptions, because we all know and can still be guilty of it. That's why we try so hard to make our hair a reflection of ourselves that we like. It can show the world who we are, or even who we want to be.

Hair is a canvas, and I dyed and bleached my long, dominican/carribean natural hair every time I wanted a change. There is nothing wrong with that, in fact, it's encouraged that people express themselves and make confidence-boosting decisions, however, in my case, a new color reflected the end of a new depressive episode. I tried to bleach away the parts of myself I hated. I couldn't control my external stressors, but I could control my appearance. So for the majority of the dumpster fire that was 2020, my hair was a color I like to call, dumpster fire flames. (My dramatic way of saying a bright red)

For months, my aesthetic, my style, my whole personality was based on this red. I cringe thinking back on it but I saw myself as a Strawberry Shortcake of sorts, just ethic, in college, and a bit of a hot mess. My wardrobe was filled with fruits, all my social media names revolved around berries. It wasn't just my identifier, it was the only thing I liked about myself.

By January, the red had faded to a much duller version, and my ends were frayed and dead. It became impossible to do anything to my hair. All I could see was the damage and I didn't have the money to get it professionally touched-up. I had quit my retail job that had become emotionally draining and unfulfilling and I had to start going on interviews, but first, the dumpster flames had to go...

The night before the first interview I went on, I popped into a Supercuts before they closed and on a whim told the stylist to cut it all off. Completely on impulse and riding the high of the thought of a fresh start.

I was terrified that I would leave looking like I had just gotten into an accident. What if she went too short? What if it was all wrong and I felt even worse? Did this freckled redhead have experience with natural hair? People really give those discount hair cuttery places a bad rap.

Not even 10 minutes later I had a fresh, clean looking new look. The dumpster flames had been put out. I had let go of this character I turned into because I didn't like who I was. On the floor, under my chair, were the chunks of rotten grapefruit colored hay. I tipped the woman as much as I could to show my appreciation as she swept up all the anxieties of the past year that I had been holding onto.

It's been about a month and I still smile everytime I look at my hair. There's a new life in this cute, shoulder-length haircut. It almost feels like I have a new life to me. Not because I changed my hair, but because I was choosing not to let it define me. Those dyed five inches had weighed a ton, and for the first time in so long, I was standing up straight. I wasn't just a strawberry cartoon who only wore pink and red and told the internet I lived in some sort of pastel storybook.

My name is Sydne. I'm 22 years old and cannot be defined by a single color or word or even a social media bio. I am a human with different moods and varied interests. I don't feel like I have to dress to tell a story of a more interesting person so I can feel liked. I dress how I feel, in whatever color I want. My life isn't a pinterest board that has to be cohesive. I'm not a brand that needs to be marketed and sold.

The problem with needing change so often is that I was never satisfied with the way things were. My problems weren't all solved when I cut my hair, but it changed the way I viewed my problems. I know I can't control everything, but the things I can control, the way I think and feel, are the most important. I still care about what people think of course, but it's what I think that matters most now. I'm not putting all this emphasis on "fixing" external things, but now, nurturing the heart and mind of the person inside.