Sometimes, keeping one’s hair long is an expression of self-care, a reminder that you deserve love too.
A lot of beauty blogs out there advise women of a certain age to keep their hair short. Short hair, these blogs say, aren’t just practical. They keep these women looking young and stylish despite their age.
I, a woman in her late 40s, prefer to keep my hair long. Long hair makes me feel good. Having long hair is my biweekly reminder that I need self-care.
A Tumultuous Early Relationship with Hair
When I was a child, I was never allowed to grow out my hair. Or wear dresses, for that matter. One would think that with me as an only daughter with three brothers, my mom would treat me like her dress-up doll. The thing is my mom wasn’t really into dolls, and my dad didn’t want me to have long hair. Long hair on a girl raised to be one of the boys was impractical. It didn’t help that I was prone to lice and dandruff when I was little. I was envious of the other girls in school whose parents allowed them to grow out their hair.
One of my most intimate memories with my mom, though, was her spending the morning combing my chin-length hair and dressing it with baby oil. I was nine years old. We rarely had moments like those. Like most middle-class mothers juggling work and family life, she was too busy for moments like those.
I only got a say about my hair when I entered college. I would argue with my dad about my hair and he could no longer do anything about it. If I wanted my hair long, I would let it grow. If I wanted my hair short, I would have it cut. Keeping my hair long, though, was me pushing boundaries as a young adult.
When I entered the corporate world, I had to keep my hair to no longer than shoulder-length. I did long bus commutes, and I didn’t always have the time to wash my hair in the morning. Shoulder-length hair was practical and considered professional.
It was only when I started working from home doing freelance writing that I started to seriously grow out my hair. But I had a tumultuous relationship with my hair back then. I took out my emotions on it. I idly plucked the premature grays and those stiff and curling baby strands. I sometimes didn’t wash it, so my dandruff came back. And whenever I was experiencing emotional turmoil, like a bad breakup or disappointment at work, I had it cut really short.
Grief and Hair
And then I got married. My husband loved long hair on a woman, so I kept my hair long for him. I loved it when he ran his fingers through my hair.
It wasn’t easy, though. Like my mother before me, I juggled work with emotional labor, and I didn’t have help. Long as my hair was, I kept it in a bun and fastened securely with a claw clip. Sometimes, I had it cut to just past my shoulders. My husband didn’t like it, but he understood why I did it.
And then, he died in 2020 – from pneumonia, not Covid. One of the things I took my grief out on was my hair. Among the first things I did after his funeral was to go to a salon and cut my hair short. As in really short – enough for individual strands to stand up and make my scalp visible.
Coming to Terms
It took me a few years to come to terms with my grief and regulate my emotions. That meant leaving my hair alone whenever I felt terrible. Instead, I went to therapy to deal with my depression and relieved stress through gaming.
Leaving my hair alone meant letting it grow. I just trimmed it whenever it needed trimming and dyed it to cover the premature whites. I don’t do anything special to my hair, not really. I just wash it with organic shampoo and conditioner twice a week and brush it before bedtime. It doesn’t shed a lot, and I don’t have dandruff anymore. It’s the healthiest it has ever been.
Long Hair = Self-Love
As a young adult, I kept my hair long as an act of rebellion because I was never allowed to grow it out before. When I got married, I kept my hair long because I loved my husband. When my husband died, I cut my hair short.
Now, I’m keeping my hair long for myself. I see it now as an expression of self-love. Caring for my hair means caring for myself.
There is such a joy in having long hair that I haven’t really felt before. I feel immense pleasure whenever I run my own fingers through it or brush it before bedtime. I love feeling the wind in my hair whenever I let it down. I love the warmth it brings when it covers my back and shoulders.
I don’t take meds for my depression anymore, but it doesn’t mean I no longer have episodes. My hair doesn’t allow me extended periods of funk. Unwashed hair is irritating and smells bad. I don’t like bad smells.
I now see my long hair as essential to my mental wellbeing. Popular advice has it that women of my age should keep their hair short. Not for me. I’ll let it grow as long as I am able to.
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