Hair Inhibitions

WWhen people say “hair is an accessory,” I nod in agreement… I always say it myself. But do I believe it? I mean really believe it? That phrase sounds empowering—like we’re in control, using hair to express our personality, our mood, our stage in life. But in truth? My hair has often felt more like a battleground than an accessory. A place where my inhibitions were front and center.

Let’s rewind.

As a little girl, I adored my long hair. I was proud of how it cascaded down my back and hit the seat of the chair when I sat. The longer, the better. Then came second grade, 1972, and my mom decided to chop her own hair into a trendy pixie shag. I begged—begged—to do the same. After enough pleading, she gave in.

But here’s the catch: we didn’t go to a fancy salon where someone might coax out the best version of this new “do.” Nope—we went to a family friend who was a barber. A man. I got my long hair hacked off in a backyard barber chair. And every eight weeks for the next decade, I returned to that chair, getting “shaped up.”

And that’s where the hair-based inhibition really began.

High school came, and I desperately tried to grow it out. But the sides of the pixie grew forward, forming these horse-blinder panels that I couldn’t style away. I graduated to a curling iron—then advanced to a butane-heated curling iron I stashed in my locker. I would sneak into the school bathroom and do damage control before facing the world. But it didn’t feel like “me”—I felt like I was hiding behind a style I hadn’t really chosen, one I didn’t feel bold enough to break away from.

For ten years—from age seven to seventeen—I struggled with my short hair. It was never quite right. I kept trying to mold it into something I could like, but the mirror rarely reflected the image I was chasing.

Then came college. I gained weight, started growing my hair again, and entered an awkward fashion phase: purple sweatsuit, red jersey, white high-top Reeboks. It was a look, let’s just say that. But even though I wasn’t winning any style awards, I was reclaiming something. My sophomore, junior, and senior years brought weight loss, longer hair, and a growing sense of myself. I was slowly shaking off the inhibition that told me I couldn’t look or feel beautiful without permission.

After getting married, my hair was finally long and beautiful. But then… my mom struck again. “Why not go back to your natural blonde?” she suggested. That kicked off a two-decade tour of blonde: light blonde, medium blonde, strawberry blonde… disaster blonde. It never quite suited me, but I stuck with it. Why? Because sometimes, your hair isn’t just hair—it’s a lifeline to who you think you’re supposed to be. And that’s what inhibition looks like, too: living in the box of someone else’s expectations.

Then came a moment I’ll never forget.

I was driving home from a Saturday workshop, exhausted. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I saw a gray stripe running down my part like a skunk trail. Was that old, tired woman really me?

Right then and there, I decided: Enough. I drove straight to Cost Cutters, chopped it all off, and embraced the gray.

It felt… fun. Freeing. People were shocked—in a good way. Their reactions were affirming. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was choosing me.

For a few years, I rocked the gray. Then added a bit of brightness in front—just for fun. I retired at 56 and kept it simple: gray with a wink. No more hiding, no more hair inhibitions.

Which brings us to now.

The other day, standing in Target with my mom and my 16-year-old daughter, I said that phrase again: “Hair is an accessory.” And I paused. Do I mean it? Do I live like it?

So I said, “Okay, you two—go for it. Pick something. Be bold.” I gave them full creative control over my next hair adventure. Pink? Platinum? A mohawk? Who knows. All I know is, I’m finally ready to live the phrase, not just say it.

And here’s the thing. Just yesterday on a walk with my sister, I found myself saying, “If you ever got cancer and needed to shave your head—I’d do it too. In a heartbeat.” And I meant it. Hair is important, yes. But it’s not sacred. Not compared to love. Not compared to sisterhood.

Because hair isn’t just an accessory—it’s a history. A timeline. A story of regrets and reinventions, of awkward phases and bold declarations. And just like the rest of me, my hair has earned the right to evolve.

So here’s to whatever comes next. I don’t know what I’ll look like tomorrow, but I’m bringing on the adventure.

Because yes—hair is an accessory. But even more? It’s a reminder that we can always change, always grow, and always let go of the inhibitions that kept us small.

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