So upon coming out to my parents and my normal psychologist (was seeing for anxiety and is not a gender therapist) they advised I take things slow. Get a haircut, see how I feel etc. Well I've gotten that haircut since. I went from having hair halfway down my back to a Mohawk shaved on the side.
My mom, being a hairstylist by profession, did it for me and nearly cried while she shaved it off. It was an emotional time for her and she had to have a glass of wine. Meanwhile, I couldn't stop smiling the whole time. The first thing she said to me was
"You don't even look like you"
Which was funny because... I felt like I finally recognized the person looking back at me in the mirror. At least a little bit. I finally thought I looked at least somewhat like me. Which just goes to show the lie I've been living that the 'me' my parents see is not really me.
But that is besides the point. It is the after effects of this damn haircut that I want to talk about. I instantly fell in love with it. I expected it to take time to adjust to but the next day I felt like I'd had it for ages and couldn't imagine myself any other way. I spent the next few weeks inexplicably happy. I used to avoid pictures, mirrors, anything like the plague. Social Media was my biggest hatred, Snapchat was a demon I avoided at all costs. After this haircut, I couldn't stop taking pictures of myself and looking in the mirror. I finally was starting to like what I saw.
However, having this haircut for me is like being starving and eating one chip. It is oh so satisfying for a moment... but only leaves you feeling hungrier afterwards. To a point where, if you hadn't eaten it, it would probably have been less painful. Not to say that I regret taking this step, it's just hard. I'd become content with hating the me I saw in the mirror, it left a distaste in my mouth but id managed to ignore it for years. Now... now everything else, everything from the neck down is just so much more horrible in contrast. This haircut was a taste of freedom only for me to be locked back in a cage of dysphoria once more. Any intentions I had on taking my transition slowly are starting to dwindle. I can barely look at myself anymore. From the head up I don't mind what I see. But the rest of my body nearly brings me to tears.
Does anyone else feel the same with their transition? Like once you start to see results somewhere, once you are finally happy with something... you start to realize the things you hate all that much more? Maybe it's just me...
-Sete
