Locked Out

And then they shaved my head.

I brought this upon myself. In July I said that I would get Dad to shave my head if we managed to raise $5000 for Dementia Australia. I have always wanted to shave my head to see what it feels like; but felt like I needed an external excuse to justify the decision, or rather, the buyer’s remorse that I expected to follow once the initial thrill faded.

I hoped rather than believed we would be able to raise this much money. My mane felt safe. I could say I tried.

We hovered around $3k for a few months and then suddenly up to $8k, $9k, $10k… over $10.5k. I was totally overwhelmed by the generosity of family and friends. The locks were to go once I returned home to Australia. To seal the deal Neil's dad had promised my (unfortunately somewhat ratty) locks to be made into a wig for a cancer patient in Adelaide.

I kept putting it off. Not today. Can’t find the dog clippers (yes, we used dog clippers). My brother isn’t here. My sister isn’t here. Dad’s in weird mood. I have an optometrist appointment. I have to go to Melbourne. I have to take the washing off the line. I think the dishwasher needs to be unpacked. Thoughts of vanity started to plague me. Do I have moles or dints in my head? What if I look like a boy? How long will it take to grow back? Will people treat me differently? What if I look ugly? What if I absolutely hate it?

Why are we so attached to our hair? It is beauty. It is Disney. It is feminine. It is warmth and softness and sexy. It simultaneously defines and hides our beauty. It seems almost unnoticed when it is there but its absence strikes. It’s different and not common. Do I miss my hair? Absolutely. I miss my ‘everydayness beauty’ and people not trying to ‘figure me out’. My optometrist asked me if it was for my ‘treatment’ or just ‘because’ – charity, I eventually stuttered.

A few strangers have come up to me and said that they think it looks lovely. My physiotherapist said it was "interesting and different". In fairness, the back looks like it was cut with a chainsaw! (I think everyone in the family had a go shaving some of my head.) It’s funny because I often forget that I have a shaved head – I don’t have to look at myself (most of the time). I feel like I am wearing my ‘everydayness beauty’ and then notice some people seem to respond differently to me; especially at the gym or at the chemist or at the beach.

Perhaps I am also hyper-sensitive. Just a bit. A little big bit. It’s new for me and exposing. Perhaps no one even notices or cares. The fixation on what others think is in my head – not yours. I miss looking and feeling typically feminine but I also love its ease as well as the feeling of trying something for the first time.

I love how liberating it feels.

I love that it is so easy.

I love that I can get it “squeaky clean” when I wash it.

I don’t have to wear a swimming cap.

I hate that I put more effort into makeup than I did before.

I hate that I am self-conscious about it if I am not “feeling pretty”.

Regrowth is making me look like a tennis ball.

I look like my brother or my brother’s twin. Dad keeps saying I’m a ‘good man’ or a 'good bloke' - last night he said I looked like him, but pretty.

I love that I did it.

I am grateful that it was a choice.

I feel exposed.

But I kind of like that.

It’s a fun story.

In a hard journey.

Our successfully unsuccessful fishing adventure