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Tuesday, September 28, 2010

my mohawk.

I mentioned in my very first post, that if I lived without fear I would get a mohawk. Why a mohawk? Good question. It’s pretty weird and random, but I wanted one. Honestly, I couldn’t have told you why, but it was something I was drawn to that I now am beginning to understand. It’s weird how somethings just feel right. So, in light of a variety of things going on in my life, the need to shoot some positive energy out into the universe, the need for liberation, and in admiration of people in my life who are utterly true to themselves, I got my hair cut and have had my own little mohawk for two weeks now. Who cares, right? It is hair. Especially for someone who values the internal above the external, I am surprised by how much I do care.

First, I will tell you that it was in fact gloriously liberating to watch someone shave off the vast majority of my hair. It affirmed that I don’t in fact place my worth on my physical appearance because if I did, I probably wouldn’t want my hair looking this ridiculous. I literally felt as thought I could breathe more deeply than I have ever breathed in my entire life (which I think is exactly what I said to Starfish, who came with me). I felt like dancing and think I did in fact dance quite a bit that night. I felt joyful as if my physical appearance had become an expression and a celebration of, well, me. What has struck me the most, though, is how confident I have become in the last two weeks.

There is something that I avoid talking about at all costs. Okay, that’s a lie, but I avoid talking about how it relates to me, and that something is body image. I talk about it nonstop (what else is new?), but I don’t talk about how I feel about my own body. I don’t talk about it because I feel like a hypocrite. I believe in the intrinsic value of all human beings and I hope and pray that all people see their own intrinsic worth, but, when it comes to my body, I practice some major self-hate. Most people in my life are unaware, but I first became disgusted with my own body at age twelve—ten whole years ago. The severity of my disgust comes and goes, but I have not seen my body the way I wish all people saw their bodies for ten years. The times I was seemingly comfortable with my body, I was in dire need of affirmation; the times I was seemingly uncomfortable, I was literally ashamed of this miracle that has carried me around for 22 years. Knowing and admitting these things about myself is most upsetting because I know how hard I have tried not to see myself the way I do, but alas, it is an ongoing battle I fight within myself. I hide it behind my smiles, I hide it by directing the conversation to other people, I hide it with the confidence I do have, but at the end of the day, I can’t lie to myself and there it is, destroying my feelings of self worth.

How the hell did I segue from a mohawk to self-hate? Well, for me, I think my little mohawk is dispelling my self-hate. As embarrassing as this is, for the past two weeks I look forward to getting undressed in front of the mirror for the sheer reason that what I see is pretty dang hot. I think there are two reasons that I have this reaction to something as absurd as a haircut: first, I have nothing to hide behind. Second, when I look in the mirror, it is obvious to me that I am not trying to look like a beauty ideal. I look like myself. My physical appearance has become an expression of the internal and as long as I am working towards fully embracing my authentic self, my internal self, and all its expressions, are beautiful.

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