I’ve been growing my hair out for quite a long time and I finally had enough a couple of days ago though and informed my husband as he was getting up for the day that he was going to have to cut my hair for me soon before I did something drastic. Like taking some scissors to it myself. Or something really drastic, like taking the clippers to it and cutting it all off. He said he’d help me out and he went off to work and I went off to sleep. When he came home later that day he made good on his promise to help me out.
Here’s how long my hair got.
Once we figured out about how long I wanted it to be he started cutting. I was standing next to a mirror, but could not see without turning my head. And I wasn’t about to turn my head (or move at all if I could help it) while my husband was cutting my hair, because the last thing I wanted to hear him say was “oops”. It became very clear from the surge of anxiety I felt when I heard him cutting the first few locks off that taking the clippers to it would have been a horribly bad idea. The sound of the scissors cutting through my hair and then the sound of the hair falling into the waste basket was more nerve wracking than I expected it to be. But at the same time it was freeing. And as more and more hair got cut off I felt less and less anxious and more happy.
Here is the result immediately after he was done cutting my hair. I hadn’t even seen it yet.
Here a few more photos after my hair had dried some.
It felt so short. I posted pictures on Facebook and my friends reminded me that my hair was still really long. Which it is, but it’s going to take a while to get used to it being about 15 or so inches shorter than it used to be.
But even though it feels really short to me now, I am still super happy with it. I’m really enjoying it not always being in the way.