On Vulnerability - Releasing the Weight of Grief through cutting my Hair

Recently, I cut my long hair short. Like, really short. The shortest I have ever cut it, and then a month later, I cut it shorter again. Now I would say, it’s the shortest it could go before getting a buzz cut. It’s the shortest my hair has ever truly been.

And I really wanted to share my experience here as to what it means, my insights, how it has been for me, and perhaps, why.

I am a hairdresser, of some 46 years. Yes, you read that correctly. I started my career as an apprentice hairdresser at 16, in 1980. Now I am 62. While hairdressing is not my main stream income right now, it is still some. Through those years and with all the incredible fashion eras that have passed, I have had, as you can imagine, many style cuts, colours – from darkest black to full head bleached white, purple, burgundy (terrible) highlights, even perms, etc. and while I’ve had short hair, varying styles, I’ve always had it at a length to play with. I would say I’ve been pretty attached to it, being a hairdresser, and knowing how it is an incredible and powerful way to express oneself to the world.

While that remains, exactly two and a half years ago, something happened on the world stage, that hit me like a lightning bolt. That event was not so much October 7th, 2023, but the day after, and every day since, until now.

When I first heard the news, my instant response was the horror of what I knew would come. Gaza. The West Bank. Genocide.

There is an important back story in that knowing and perhaps a reason for it, and I hope to write about that in a future blog. But for now, it is enough for me to share with you that I lived and worked right next to Gaza, in occupied Palestine for 6 weeks at the end of 1986, going into 1987. It was Kibbutz Carmiya, in Ashkelon, just a few kilometers from the Gazan checkpoints.  I didn’t know then, but since have learned that Ashkelon was built upon a town that was previously destroyed and whose indigenous inhabitants – Palestinian – were either murdered in massacres or displaced during the Nakba in 1946/7. And now I understand why my experience there was so fraught with trauma and horribly negative energy; it was built upon unspeakable violence, to the people, to the animals and to the land.

On watching the terrible horror of genocide unfold, in real time, on my phone, amongst many responses, one of them was a burning urge to shave my head.

At the time my hair was a reasonable length, past my shoulders and although I had shaved undercut/sidecut from time to time [another story there, from my journey of living and working in Myanmar/Burma in 2017 under military occupation] this time the urge was, well urgent and intense.

I went to my dear hairdresser in Melbourne, beautiful Carmen, who talked me out of it on a few occasions, most likely from how it might look on her 60 year young client of some 20 years. So, I just went short, grew it, cut it short, bobs, undercuts, you get the picture.

Until just recently. Finally, the urge outweighed my ego.

So, I took the plunge with my dear hairdresser up here and had her style it short. Really short.

How did it feel? Well, good – no regrets immediately (always a good sign, lol). And the drive home, good. Funny, I didn’t really feel it was that much shorter, but the feeling of lightness was amazing. That feeling was instant. A weight lifted, like an unburdening of things I didn’t even realize were weighing on my energy and emotions – grief, worry – about so many things, both personal and universal. It felt great.

Another feeling that came forward was vulnerability. Vulnerable to the elements as we transition into the cooler months of Autum and Winter. Vulnerable to the judgements, pre-conceived notions of others (“Is she recovering from illness?” or “Someone her age should definitely not cut her hair so short; it’s for the young, beautiful ones” or “I liked her hair much more when it was longer.” Etc.) Vulnerable because there’s no hiding from others. I didn’t realize how much I did.

Thing is, I can easily wear scarves and hats to keep warm. That’s no problem. And I don’t actually know what others around me think. Very few have commented. In some ways I wish they did, so then I would know rather than make up the stories in my head. That’s exactly what they are, stories in my head. And no amount of saying I don’t care what others think, I still do, to an extent. The human in me.

And yet, there is a sense of freedom in the vulnerability also. I find I like not hiding. I like others seeing my whole face in all it’s expressions. I like my own rawness and I feel freer to be me, with more honesty and integrity. A lessening of the masks I wear – at least, more physically. The pros and the cons.

Over the years, when I cut hair I used to tell clients that we carry energy in our hair. That as it grows, the memory of all that occurs is held in every strand. And I noticed that many of my clients would come for a big change in their hair styles after huge events and milestones throughout their lives. After marriage, after childbirth, and now, for myself, it feels like it’s after watching the death of so many beautiful souls on our planet, at the hands of other humans.

I now understand and appreciate that I have been assisting others through transitions all my working life, and until now, as a Spiritual Doula. And to me the best way to describe it as that is that all transition and transformation, through the process of birthing, the process of dying and everything in between, all the metaphorical births and deaths we each move through, while very much a physical thing, along with all the emotions and mental shifts and growth, it ultimately is a spiritual thing. It is the spiritual journey and all the changes and eras we move through. Spiritual, whether we understand that at the time or later, or ever.

For me, I don’t know how long I will keep it this short, or whether I will feel the urge to completely shave my head or grow it again. It doesn’t really matter; it’s more of a curiosity to me. I’ll watch and wait to feel when and if. And that’s the thing, this shedding - it’s the somatic sense, within my very tissues that I am listening to. And the connection I am making with the spiritual transformation being guided by my somatic senses. By that I mean, that which is speaking to me through my body. I listen to that.

Now it makes more sense to me, the connection between all that I feel led to offer now, in service to my clients, to the world, to myself as nourishment. Through deep listening, Somatic Yin Yoga, Somatic rhythm and movement and Yoga shapes, Breathwork and Pranayama, Guided Meditations, Oracle card interpretations, Singing Bowls, Toning, Singing, Dancing. Each have their own place within the transformation. Each modality assist the process. Each individual touched and held and moved as we create the safe space to do this precious, tender work together.

All this, through my deep connection to Gaza in Occupied Palestine – body, mind, experientially and soul. Through deep grief, I can hold more when I cut my hair. Letting each lock fall with grace and humility, for witnessing such horror and loss, allows me to be able to hold more space for it and for others moving through transition, with no hierarchy of what is more or less important. All this, through the transformation of my hair, my body telling me, I needed to let go, with compassion, in order to grow, in order to learn and to understand, so that I can hold more, for myself, for the people of Gaza and for others.

I hope this makes sense. I am curious as to how this lands for you, dear reader, and what insights or feelings you may have, in response.

With that said, wishing you much love and blessings as you, as we each move through the big changes, the small changes and every single decision that makes up all the changes in our lives.

Blessed be.