Just be you. It’s something I say a lot to people. This week I allowed me to be me and shaved off my long, very curly hair which has annoyed me ever since I let it grow back after cutting it off last time.

It’s my Christmas present to me. A wonderful $20 present which has liberated and empowered me and most certainly cooled me well down.

I first shaved my hair off going on five years ago following a deeply traumatic incident where I resigned from my job, sold our house and had a wee breakdown.

It was a hair-shed moment for me then and it was again yesterday.

I grew my hair back when I returned to the corporate world after wandering around Nepal for a while. It seemed the sensible thing to do and it was received as such.

So my curly hair grew back wildly curly and I washed and conditioned it, spent money I couldn’t afford on product to stop it becoming a white woman’s sad afro, impatiently hacked away at the birds nests which would follow a night’s sleep, paid sporadically for colour to hide the grey and then forlornly gazed upon my re-growth. And most of the time, I had my hair tied up anyways to keep it out of the way and to tolerate Queensland’s heat.

My hair grew as I pulled on my corporate wardrobe and went back to “life”. It grew as I quit my job, moved home, did some corporate gigs here and there and scrambled trying to earn a living in a rapidly tightening employment market.

I tried to squeeze myself into what I thought was expected of me. Until recently when a change of mindset, circumstance and just bloody good fortune opened up the possibility of me really being me again.

So I have taken it and relieving myself of the weight of my hair – should have weighed that mass of self-imposed conformity on the floor of the salon before I left – is symbolic of this shift.

What really drove home how liberating my new haircut is were the reactions of the women in the salon when I arrived and when I left.

There were a few of them, all in chairs having their hair coloured and they looked to be in for the long haul; I’ve been there, done that and was never a fan. When I first walked in to what is a new salon for me, the women looked at me as a curiosity. They clearly couldn’t comprehend what I was doing and sat there openly watching my hair fall messily to the floor, slightly disproving looks on their face.

The young hairdresser was wary, admitting she had never taken clippers to a woman’s head before. She quickly warmed to the job and relished doing something completely different. The other customers and salon owner continued to just stare.

The women “having their hair done” were still sitting there getting their very expensive haircuts when I left about 20 minutes later. The owner called out as I left: “I think you have a couple of converts here” as her clients looked at me. I’m sure they weren’t jealous of the haircut; more the required investment in terms of time and money on my part.

Sure, my hair is now very grey and gives away my age for those who haven’t guessed it from the deep wrinkles on my face. And I’m fine with that – this week. It’s not very feminine and I’m fine with that because I have never been known for my femininity.

It may change and that’s ok. Because I’m just trying to be me and I am perpetually changing as hopefully we all are.

Now I need to remember to wear a hat this summer while I’m just me being me.

Mercy Christmas folks.