“I’ve had long hair, I’ve had short hair, and I’ve had in between hair… and its all good.”
-Morena Baccarin

As a teenager, I always have been a secret rebel. Working hard to play small. Trying hard to under perform. Maybe fail in a subject or two at school. I would not do things I would be expected to do. To a point when I dreaded I’d remain stuck up in a school forever. Soon thereafter, the focus moved to my looks, which came in the way of wooing any of the ‘cute’ guys in school. I had perceived myself anything but attractive all my life. Hated myself and moreover, the girl I’d see into the mirror. Who’d love a girl like that?

It was all the black clothes phase. Black wrist bands. Kohl in my eyes. Black nail polish. Multiple chains around my neck and anything that’d not even remotely make me look or feel feminine. I hated being a girl, right? And guess what? I headed towards the nearest men’s salon for the haircut of my life. Shortest possible. I still remember the look on my best friends’ face, the day I walked into the Statistics lab. I was the tom-boy, and definitely carried it off pretty well. Last few years of my teenage were doing me good.

The self-love that I keep talking of these days, was not something I took seriously back then. It was a concept difficult to wrap my head around. Who cares about the world? Or myself for that matter? I pushed myself down on a bumpy ride of self-sabotage. My downward spiral had set off. Major educational and career shifts. The people in my life. Quite a few exciting things were happening around. The ups and downs were taking their toll on my mind, and my hair.

As long as I remember, I have always had a love-hate relationship with my hair. Always wanting to be the son in the house, I dearly hated the speed of the growth of my hair. I’d start looking feminine within a span of month or two. Now, as I’m writing about this, I feel I’m narrating a story of some unknown person I don’t seem to even relate to anymore. But I’ve lived it all. Boy-cuts. Red coloured hair. Tightly braided a hundred braids. Hair regularly washed in a washbasin during the course of a day. I’d often resent anyone complimenting the long hair other girls at school would flaunt. Worse, I’d resent anyone complimenting the speed of my hair growth. ‘What’s with the girly girls gaining all the limelight?’, I’d wonder. What’s in the looks? One needs to love me as a person, at heart. My ideals were clear and straight.

I did my absolute best never to be ladylike, or engage into activities I considered ‘female’ oriented. I took pride in saying I cannot cook food. I hated gossiping. Detested going shopping. Makeup was a no-no. Black was my go-to colour when nails were to be painted. Extremely sporty and played tennis and went swimming. My male friends would never consider me being the girl around, and they’d often ask me to introduce them to the ‘cute’ female friends of mine. The adjectives I’d often associate with me were bold, strong, self-reliant, fearless, powerful and everything that felt masculine.

Fast forward about a decade, a lot happened in between. I was later told, I used to be called ‘the little girl who changed hairstyles’. As long as I remember, I’ve changed my look just by chopping off my hair in a different way each time. The ever so straight hair, always chose to show up differently every time. Soon I chose to emerge from the chrysalis of the self-conscious adolescence.

Last few years have be stark opposite of what I was back in my school days or early college days. I’ve grown to love myself immensely and moreover the gender I was born in. I give a great deal of credit to the all women’s college I studied in. I have always been the beautiful female within that I desired to be. It needed a transformation to get me where I am today. As I write here today, I realise I’ve barely shared my rebellious stints with anyone before. I never really wanted to be the cool dude, I always pretended to be. But I always felt the need to fit in. But today, as I embrace my femininity, I belong to a much powerful energy Divine. I can stand tall, all by myself. I feel much more comfortable being calm, composed and compassionate than ever before. I own and flaunt my beautiful curves confidently. Being voluptuous is not something I need to hide. I enjoy adorning clothes that are bright coloured, floral, flowing or well fitted. I love to smile wholeheartedly, showing all my teeth. I enjoy cooking, and can dearly imagine myself as a stay-at-home-mom. I feel warm, nurturing and loving. Resilience is my new identity. I no longer feel the need to play small, or act dumb, just to fit in into a crowd. I enjoy my intelligence and wit, as the most beautiful crown. I feel brave and motivated and driven towards my goals, and also talk of my struggles in past. I create loving space within me to receive graciously. Receptivity is the highest virtue I’m learning, being a feminine woman. Beautiful, pretty and cute are the adjectives that feel pretty good to relate to. Yet, I always look at tom boyish girls with utmost love and joy. For I shall always see a part of my old self in them, even now.

I keep myself away from gossiping, ‘retail therapy’ or excessive makeup. But all these decisions are now out of self-love, self-care and the constant desire to grow and evolve. I feel freer and content in the day-to-day moments. I no more feel the need to go out and achieve something just to prove myself to anyone. I know and understand my worth, and never let people walk all over me. Oh yes, I’ve stopped making jokes at the cost of myself, and let people laugh at me. I have started drawing my boundary, and honour it with utmost respect. Most importantly, I have learnt to say No. One of the greatest lessons of all times. (That shall be a topic of some other day). I feel I have arrived to this moment right now, and continue to evolve. There is nothing worse than letting complacency set in. I do value all the lessons I’ve learnt, yet I know I have much more to learn. It is an ongoing journey, and I enjoy it with every breath, and abundance in all forms to come my way.

As far as my hair are concerned, I stopped cutting them three years ago. I tried colouring them red, golden brown, and eventually black. What is left now, is my original dark brown shade. Flowing carefree in the winds, when I’m at the top of the hill. Makes me feel much more feminine and beautiful. Needless to say, I’m learning to receive the compliments all the more graciously. I feel my hair smile back at me. I feel like kissing them with joy. Well, I actually do. But above all, they’ve made me much more intuitive and wise. Initially I never took the articles I seriously, that talked about men and women in olden days never cutting their mane, for spiritual reasons. Maybe I’m imagining, or maybe I’m not. I love to believe growing my hair long and keeping them so, is doing me good. For it gives me a joy that was unknown.

“Loving our hair and accepting others’ is a simple but powerful way to encourage self-love and bring people together while celebrating our uniqueness.”
-Carolyn Aronson