Snip.

It started with scissors.

I hate going to a hair salon because I feel like all the ladies there have all this secret knowledge acquired through dark rituals (probably). They even speak another language – with words like layering and ratting and texture. Unless I speak the secret code words, I’ll identify myself as a non-hair person and they’ll probably give me a purple mohawk.

You might scoff, but something similar happened at my brother’s wedding. My soon-to-be sister-in-law was getting her hair done gorgeously, and all the other bridesmaids (and me) made a pact that we would just have out hair done simply, ‘pinned out of the way,’ so as to keep all the attention on her.

So I sat down awkwardly in the hairdresser’s chair and declared that I wanted my hair simply ‘pinned back’.

She looked at me like I was a Martian, straightened my hair, stuck a couple of bobby pins in my hair and said, “Like that?”

Not knowing any better, I shrugged and said, “Sure.”

I hopped out of the chair and turned around to see ALL of the other ladies with their hair twisted and braided and curled in ways I didn’t know possible. And my sister-in-law had this magnificently complicated bun with stray curls framing her face and flowers interwoven between the strands and her veil magically attached to the back of her neck.

And me with my bobby pins.

See what I mean about code words?

So understandably I’m a bit hesitant about heading into the hairdresser’s. Frankly, I always feel less feminine when I step over the threshold because I don’t know what they’re talking about. I missed a few lessons in my girlhood because I was too busy with my brothers, riding bikes and crashing into ditches and coaxing my friends into pretending to be superheroes (they wanted to be rabbits. So we compromised: superhero rabbits).

This led to a few weeks ago, when I felt powerless over not being able to do the things I wanted to do with my life.

I can’t go on missions trips because I’m busy being an adult and only have a certain amount of time off per year. I know maybe one person in town outside my workplace and yet I have this pressing need to fellowship and talk about God with people who love him as passionately as I do. I feel trapped and pressured to be a certain person by my workplace and I don’t want to be cynical and I don’t want to go the direction of a comfortable cushy medical career, but the tide is flowing and that is what society expected of me and with all this pressure sometimes I can’t even B R E A T H E

And on top of all that, I haven’t had a haircut in over a year and my split ends are evidence of my sanity starting to fray….

Then one morning, I had a bubble of sudden, giddy courage.

I made my way to the Googles and looked up a few tutorials.

I eyed the scissors with some hesitance.

It couldn’t be that easy…. could it?

Only trained people can cut hair. Only people who know what they’re doing can make a change like that.

Surely I couldn’t just…

Snip.

Did I just…?

Snip.

Maybe instead of sitting back, powerless and helpless, maybe…

Snip.

Maybe I could just… try. Learn something new. (snip) Try a recipe. (snip) Work out. (snip) Read my Bible. (snip) Write a blog post. (snip) Join a small group. (snip) Cut out things that waste my time and drain my energy. (snip) Invite my friend for coffee. (snip) 

Fail miserably. Get up afterwards. (snip)

What my impulsive trim is teaching me is that I have more control than I realize. The only thing stopping me from making a change is…

me.

And the lies that I’ve accepted.

Today, I am ready for change.

Snip.

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