First things first, I want to make a distinction between confidence and conceit. My blog is a platform (not to mention all of society should be a platform) where accepting and openly discussing your own beauty and self worth should not be shamed. Every person deserves to feel beautiful, inside and out, if that is of vaule to them. Of course, beauty is not everyone’s cup of tea, and I am only speaking for myself. I love beautiful things. Although we could talk inward beauty all day long, today, we’re talking all about outward beauty. Our appearance can serve as a reflection and a means of expressing what’s inside our truest selves. I do not put all of my self worth into my appearance, but I like to like the way I look. And there is no shame in that. Dressing fun and bright, enjoying my own skin, all of those “superficial” things have not only served as an essential coping mechanism throughout my health obstacles, but I see as an art form and valuable tool of self expression.
Today we’re going to talk about... *drumroll*...my hair.
A 14 year old Sydney hid her insecurities beneath a blanket of long dirty blonde hair. 30 pounds heavier, way too loud, and wearing too much eyeliner, like most tweens, I was awkward and didn’t quite fit in. However, my hair was my security blanket. It was my identity. Long, curly, and highlighted blonde from surfing, I had that “beachy surfer girl” look if you will. I didn’t like my face or my body, but I liked my hair. “Never cut your hair!” “If you cut your, hair I’ll kill you.” “I would die for your hair” Comments like this have been constantly thrown at me my whole life, and with that I have become extremely emotionally attached to my hair. My younger self thought I could never be beautiful without the comfort of my long locks. I remember boys making so much fun of girls when they cut their hair in high school. For some reason teenage boys equated short hair to unattractiveness (not to generalize of course), so this stigma was engraved deep into my brain. I vowed to never chop my mayne.
As you all probably know from reading this blog, my 18th year of existence was brutal. To say the least, a storm of confusion, pain, and darkness rocked my world, leaving me with a lot of shrapnel to pick up. But I survived this shitty year, and although I am still working through the trauma it has left and preparing for the obstacles ahead, I truly feel I have entered a new chapter of my story, and have done a lot of growing with it. I am ready to let go, learn from it, and move forward. I am ready to give back, do good, and keep growing.
"Let that shit go." this is my current mantra.
I have been craving a change lately. Symbolically, letting go for me is cutting my hair. Given I grew up to view my hair as key part my identity, it is associated with my younger selves deep insecurities and the traumas of a year that is now behind me. I want to move on. I’ve worked hard to love myself, and I don’t want to rely on something so arbitrary as hair to feel that way. I am a beautiful young woman, and I am damn proud to admit that. I am blossoming into the version of me that is going to help others and take on the world with empathy, creativity, and strength. So, I am letting go of not only the physical weight, but all of its emotional ties. Bye Felcia.