Flourishing Today

Appearance as Identity, or Accessory?

Normally, I share my processes on my blog and with clients, after I’ve come up with great tools and come out the other side.  This time I’m going to let you in before I’ve come out of the tunnel, because of the value in sharing a process while in the middle of it.  People fear they’re alone and it is comforting to know they’re not.

As some of you may know, my father just died of a brain tumor. Grief can be a powerful and devastating experience, whether you’re dealing with a death, divorce, job loss, or break-up. The only way to get past it, is to go through it and all that goes along with it. While you’re in the midst of it, it can be the loneliest experience in the world. Eventually we all experience it, its completely normal. Since I wasn’t raised in a culture with traditions around grief, as part of my process I decided to shave my head.  This was something I’d considered in the past, but this is the only time I’ve ever done it.  While it was the right thing for me to do, I suddenly discovered how much of “me” I had tied in with my hair.

It was no longer “feminine.” I’d decided that I was going to shave my hair and then go soak at Olympic Spa.  Having had short hair before I didn’t expect to feel a blow to my femininity, but there I was surrounded by women every one of whom had longer hair than I did.  It was a shock to my emotional system and I’ve never felt so vulnerable and self-conscious of being a woman in my life.

It was no longer purple + pink. If you’ve visited my webpage before, met me at events, or worked with me in the past year, you’ll remember me as having pink or purple hair.  It was a signature look that had evolved out of a long journey of discovery and self expression.  I loved my pink hair. I loved who I was with pink hair.  My branding involved working with courageous people who want to express themselves in their lives and relationships.  Having pink hair was an ice breaker and a great way to resonate with people who either had, or admired that boldness.  Now it was gone, and I was left with this… blonde??

It brings stuff up. And it’s not just my stuff. Death is a huge subject. When people are used to you having long(ish) hair, much less pink(ish) it creates conversation.  Why did you shave your head? What happened to your hair? This could be fine, if the answer is “it’s summer” or “I felt like it.”  When the answer is “my dad died” it creates a whole new dynamic.  It’s like a break in the freeway when you’re cruising along on social autopilot.  I have to decide when or how to manage it and I don’t always know how to deal with it. People asking the question don’t always know how to respond either.  Do you back away from the conversational edge, or do you jump in together?

As a person who normally considers myself a relatively happy person, I’m also devastated.  Where once there was a steady rhythm of life, work, friendships and joy, now I never feel the same from one moment to the next. I can’t predict how grief shapes my day.  I’m still whole, but my identity is changing without the relationship with my father to help triangulate a relative place in the world.

While my hair and appearance has always been more of an accessory than an identity, it continues to be some of both. My hair has become a metaphor for all the changes going on, on the inside. I don’t feel the same, so I don’t look the same.  It is a chapter break where I leave one chapter behind, and a new one begins.   Life continues but it isn’t the same life — even if hair does grow back.

And that’s OK too.