Did your parents ever tell you something that seemed totally normal at the time, but you now realize was completely ridiculous? Think. You cannot say no. This particular belief involves scissors, blood, and my luscious hair.
You see, my mom didn’t want me to cut my hair like several other kids were doing, and instead of being straight up with me on how she felt, she told me a fib. If I were to cut my hair, it would bleed. I was six at the time, and I was terrified of blood. I hated it. It made me feel extremely nauseous and uneasy, so her little lie worked.
I’m not sure why it never clicked to me that no one else at home had hair that would bleed, nor my classmates or friends. It just made sense to me that hair was as fragile as a cut on skin. It definitely is, but not on the same level.
I loved my hair, but the only downside was the knots that formed effortlessly throughout the day, which became my biggest enemy in the evening, when it was time to brush them out. My mom realized it was finally time to cut my hair, but I said no because I didn’t want to hurt its feelings and let it bleed. I lived with this mindset for a couple of months until I saw my tia had gotten her hair trimmed. I looked up to her a lot and saw that she wasn’t afraid to let go, so I decided maybe I shouldn’t be. So there I went running to my mom about a haircut I was fearful of not so long ago. After she confirmed that I wanted to do it, she made an appointment and assured me that my locks would be in good hands with a professional.
I clearly remember the hairstylist chopping off my thick braid, and it falling into my mom’s hands. I waited for the blood to gush out, but there wasn’t anything to wait for. After my appointment, I was both extremely hyped and confused. Why was there no blood after several nicks and cuts? The thought of questioning my mom never even crossed my mind.
Not until nine years later did she confess that she was the one who shot these lies into my head. I had no clue for the longest time why I believed this, but it all came back to me the second it came out of her mouth. I still haven’t decided whether to feel upset or laugh about it. Maybe both?
As I sit here, reflecting on my childhood belief, I can’t help but run my fingers through the ends of my recently trimmed hair. It’s silly, isn’t it? How something that once seemed so terrifying now feels so free. Each snip of the scissors felt like a release, a representation of my ability to let go of the past and step forward without fear. There’s a unique kind of beauty in that, in the courage to challenge your own deeply rooted beliefs (my mom’s lie) and discover the lightness that comes with not being afraid.
