A Milestone I Never Expected
As a mother for over fifteen years, I’ve experienced the typical milestones of motherhood—sleeping in, bathroom privacy, and being called “Dude” instead of “Mom.” However, I recently crossed a milestone that I never anticipated.
I can’t quite recall the moment I decided to stop dyeing my hair to cover the grays that started appearing after my youngest was born. It likely happened during the exhausting routine of meal planning for my family, who each have their own dietary preferences, or while trying to determine if my child, who claimed to be too sick for school, was genuinely unwell or just exploiting their pandemic perks.
When do mothers ever find the time to color their hair while juggling the responsibilities of a pandemic for almost two years? And perhaps more importantly, why do we feel compelled to spend our limited alone time pretending to look youthful? As the emotional anchor for my family, tasked with mending the gaps in our broken systems, I was expected to maintain a polished appearance while sacrificing my own aspirations in this relentless role of holding it all together.
No, thank you.
I transitioned from the thought of “I’ll let my grays grow out slowly” to picking up clippers and shaving my head on New Year’s Eve. I wanted a fresh start—my hair, completely gray from the outset—and I wanted to rebel against the societal expectation that women must appear youthful while managing everything around them.
To be honest, my desire to shave my head wasn’t solely about defying gender norms. I had dreamed of this moment for years. What would I look like? (I had convinced myself I would resemble a mole—but honestly, I just looked like a fierce version of myself.) How would it feel to run my hands over my newly shaved scalp? (It was as wonderful as I had imagined.) And how liberating would it be to step out of the shower with no styling needed—like the guys do? (Words can’t describe it, but bliss is close.) Shaving my head was on my bucket list, and I realized: Am I really going to refrain from this experience just to conform to conventional beauty standards?
Forget it. Bzzz.
As clumps of hair fell into the sink, so did the belief that I needed to be validated by the male gaze to have worth. It was astounding to recognize all the societal agreements my hair had been upholding. Staring at my reflection, I felt a rush of empowerment as I ran my hand over the stubble, experiencing something entirely new. Rarely do I get solo moments like this amidst the chaos of parenting, so I indulged in rubbing my head for a full ten minutes.
Over the next few days, I fought the urge to wear heavy makeup and statement earrings to make my shaved head more socially acceptable, both for myself and others. Women with shaved heads often face many stereotypes, and in that first week, I resorted to mascara and hoops to signal that I was not a “red flag” (ironically, that in itself is a red flag). I wasn’t yet at ease in my new look, enduring stares and awkward apologies when I crossed paths with others. I assumed they might think I was a cancer patient, a lesbian, or a punk rocker. In reality, I was just a mom tired of the all-consuming version of motherhood that felt stifling.
Oh, and did I mention I’m exhausted? I’d much rather use my “free” time for a nap than to style my hair.
I sought to simplify my life, to embrace a new version of myself as I transitioned into this next phase. Nothing felt wrong about that; everything felt right. I eventually ditched the makeup and accessories, opting for my authentic self. When my traditional, 80-year-old mother saw me on FaceTime for the first time, her jaw dropped, and she exclaimed, “You’re beautiful!” I believe it shocked her as much as it surprised me.
I have no idea where this journey will lead me. Perhaps it will evolve into a pixie cut, or maybe I’ll grow my hair back. But being a woman with a shaved head has woven itself into my identity, prompting me to ask, “What would a woman with a shaved head do?” This mindset has empowered me to make bolder choices and set healthier boundaries. Like the time a man stood too close to me in line at the store—I realized that a woman with a shaved head wouldn’t shy away; she would assert herself and tell him to back off. No apologies.
In retrospect, shaving my head was an act of self-care—not the superficial kind that tries to trick mothers into taking care of themselves through gimmicks, but genuine self-care that challenges toxic norms and reclaims our power as women, even as mothers.
To any mom contemplating shaving her head—guess what? You totally can. And if you feel like you can’t, take a moment to reflect. What’s holding you back? Which agreements are standing in your way?
Recently, I went on a weekend getaway, and for the first time since childhood, I didn’t pack a blow dryer, curling iron, or straightener. My load was lightened—quite literally.
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