Cut It Out!

“And another thing you have to know in this world:
Cut up your hair, straighten your curls.
Well, your problems hide in your curls.”

Eventually, of course, my hair grew back.  And as many had foretold, it grew back curly.  There were a couple of phases in the grow out period that were awkward, but for the most part, I really loved the curls.  I’d gone nearly my whole life wanting curly hair, so I’d be crazy to complain– they weren’t frizzy, out of control or difficult to manage; I had only to wash them and they dried as if I’d stepped out of a salon- lush, golden ringlets.  As far as curls go (forgetting the style for a moment), I must say, they were nearly perfect.  As time wore on, my hair started growing straight(ish) again at the roots, so the curls became locks that hung around my shoulders.  Strangers stopped me on the street, in elevators, at parties, and the conversation inevitably went something like this:

“Oh my gosh!  You have such beautiful hair!”
“Thank you.”
“Is it natural?”

And I say inevitable there because this is exactly the turn every single compliment ever took.  It was immediately followed by what I can only now assume is a suspicion buried somewhere deep in human nature:  that an object affiliated with a person may not contain in equal measure both beauty and truth.  Contrary to popular belief.  Or maybe people possess an innate desire for the synthetic, as it is more easily attainable for individual use.

How I answered the question depended on my mood.  I always had to think about it, which I could tell they noticed I was doing, so there was a whole awkward moment of them trying to understand why asking if it was natural would turn awkward or be difficult to answer.  If I said, “yes”, that would be a lie because the curls were chemically induced.  If I said, “no”, well that would also be a lie because it wasn’t like was trying to make it curly, I didn’t do anything special every morning, I just woke up and it was like that.  It was my real hair.  And I don’t like lying to people, but the only way to clear up why I would say “yes” or “no” and then stand there looking like I’d just told a lie would be to add, “I had cancer”.  And I gotta tell you, that is a conversation stopper.  Or starter.  They would feel compelled to apologize for asking, even though they hadn’t done anything wrong.  Or they’d want to get into it and I usually had somewhere to go.  And any way you slice it, this kind, unassuming remark of theirs drug me back to a difficult chapter of my life that was not so far behind me that is wasn’t still attached firmly atop my head.  Should have been such a simple question, right?  Some people just can’t take a compliment.

The point is, the curls were a much more complicated subject than one might assume.  Even as I had grown attached to how pretty they were and all the attention they were getting, so was I  suspicious of their origin, their veracity, what they meant to me, what they made of me.  I imagine everyone who goes through something traumatic comes out of it feeling like a different person.  I looked like a different person.  Or at least I thought I did.  When I was working in India, one of the girls I was working with had naturally curly hair.  I complained one day that my curls were impossible to straighten and she took this as a challenge.  We went out and bought the necessary hair dryer and tools for the job and went back to the house to let her at it.  To her credit, she managed to get it pretty straight, even if it only stayed like that for 10 minutes before spiraling back up.  During those 10 minutes, I went to my room to look at it in the mirror, and became immediately emotional.  It’s hard to explain why exactly.  In a lot of ways, I had accepted and welcomed the curls, integrating them into my persona.  I conflated them with the cancer experience itself, a direct result, a silver lining.  This will sound ridiculous, but I thought losing them would make me less attractive or take some of the experience away.  I think I started crying when I looked in the mirror because none of that was true.  I had a rare moment of feeling like everything was going to be alright.  I looked exactly like myself, just with straight hair.  And the extent to which I looked like myself before cancer was comforting rather than diminishing.  But like I said, it only lasted 10 minutes.

Well over a year later, I still had not cut it.  It was just getting to the length I’d wanted before I’d shaved it all, but it was also starting to fray on the ends.  I bought a salon voucher online, I had only to redeem it.  I agonized over it for weeks, knowing how ridiculous I was being.  I’m hardly ever afraid of changes -big changes- I mean I shaved my head and hardly batted an eye, so what gives?  All the crazy shit I’ve willingly put myself through and thisterrifies me?

What it came down to was that I’d become afraid to define myself in other ways.  I identified with it so strongly, something that wasn’t even originally mine, that I was afraid losing it would make me less me.  Cancer weakens people in ways that aren’t just physical, I wasn’t confident that without it I could be good enough to be myself again.  If that makes sense.

One day last fall I redeemed the stupid voucher.  And you know, I hardly felt a thing.  I didn’t cry like I’d warned the stylist I might, and I didn’t regret it.  I didn’t tell anyone I’d done it.  Going into work the next day, I think maybe one of the forty men I work with noticed.  These days, it doesn’t much bother me.  I miss the curls a little, but I don’t miss having to explain them all the time.

To make this weird post a little more relatable, ‘cancer’ should be understood as something undesirable that grows within us and has the ability to affect our lives in a very real way.  It’s not always in our control as ‘control’ is usually defined, but there are ways to manage it.  For starters, you can own it- but resist the urge to become defined by it.  (It’s actually a good exercise for material objects as well).  Stop trying to reason it away as if it’s got nothing to do with the ‘real’ you, the real you is someone who has to deal with it.  And don’t mistake the thing itself with it’s consequences.  The thing itself–you give it weight, you allow it to define you, you give it power over yourself.  There are any number of things internal and external that will leave scars, but cultivating positivity towards those scars is only part of the solution.  You are not better despite.  You are better because.