I once heard that in some tribes they believe that our hair holds memories, our deepest thoughts, and everything in between. It’s almost as if cutting ones hair could allow the existence of your soul to continue, but would provoke the death of your past self. I remember being alarmed, but also comforted by this information since one of my favorite times of the year was when i booked a haircut. Before I knew this information, sixteen year old me with locks down to my hips had an incessant urge to shave her head . At that time in my life pain felt like it held my hand in every waking moment and memories haunted me. The death of my past sounded like liberation, the freedom to exist and be who I wanted without the restriction of memories. I always felt like reinvention of outward appearance could trick the mind into believing our outward reality also shifted. My long locks were always complimented and beauty was idolized in both my family and the community I grew up in. Shaving my head sounded like the death of my past, the ability to exist in the world where my looks weren’t highlighted, and the chance to reinvent myself. Shaving my head was seen as a crisis outwardly by those around me, but to me it was freedom. A haircut showed me the power was always within me to be whoever i wanted to be, even if chaos existed around me.