52+: Making the cut

By Kelly Mishell, Guest Nudger

I’ve been toying with cutting my hair for four or five years. I see other women with cute short haircuts, fully owning their style and sass, and I envy them.

You see, I have fine hair. The wispy kind that looks stringy the longer it gets, the kind that a small breeze will fully obliterate any style I’ve managed to create. When I was a child, my mother would talk me into having short hairstyles like the pixie, the Dorothy Hamill (circa 1976) and, of course, The Shag.

From an objective, outside perspective, my short hair looked cute. But my internal narrative was less objective, nor was it kind. I was always the tallest girl in my elementary school class. No, not the tallest girl, the tallest kid. Taller than the boys, also. To me, it appeared that the petite girls with long, beautiful hair got all the attention. Tall Kelly with the boy-short hair was not getting any attention. So, yeah, I’ve had a decent amount of negative internal talk and emotional trauma around my hair.

Flash forward to sitting in my hairdresser’s chair as a 56-year-old woman. The bob I have worn for 15 years, while considered short, has a feminine vibe that I’ve embraced as the happy medium between hair-worlds. But I was undeniably bored. Stagnant. Feeling itchy for big change. The only answer for immediate satisfaction was “Cut it.”

My hairdresser of 10 years is a smart woman. She’s seen more than enough people craving life change issuing the command to “Chop it all off!!” She knows all too well this usually leads to serious regret the next day. She also knows me well enough to know I’ve teetered on the edge of this cliff countless times only to back away before the point of no return.

She resists her urge to say, “I’ve been waiting for this moment—let me get my scissors before you change your mind!” No, she sits across from me and says, “Let’s talk. Why do you want this change? What’s going on in your life?”

She coached me for nearly an hour about my relationship stuff, how I’m going to my next level in life, and about my upcoming decisions that will require me to take bold, courageous action. As I talked it occurred to me that if I could not make this leap to cut my hair (hair that will grow back if I realize it was a huge mistake), how can I take even bigger, bolder leaps toward the life changes in front of me?

Whew. The thought was sobering. And inspiring.

“I’m ready. Just do it.” I settled in the chair, empowered by my leap of faith.

I love my new haircut. Each time I look in the mirror I smile and am reminded of how much I honored myself by doing the thing that scared me.

Now I’m excited to embrace what’s next.