Letting Go of the Past: The Great Hair Surrender

So I went to my hairdresser after a five-month hiatus, dear reader. Before you jump to conclusions, no—we didn't have a dramatic falling out. There were no passive-aggressive text messages, no salon betrayal worthy of a reality TV show. He was simply out of the country, living his best life while my hair lived its... well, not-best life.

Now, he used to have this fabulous fellow who would fill in for him (Hello Bill, we miss you!), but Bill moved away, probably to a place where people actually enjoy getting haircuts. Which left me in a predicament that I handled with the maturity and grace you'd expect: I avoided it entirely for five months.

Here's something that might shock you, dear reader: this hairdresser has been my hairdresser my whole life. Yes, since I was a kid. He's seen me through high school graduation with questionable bang choices, college graduation with even more questionable highlights, a wedding, a divorce, another wedding, business launches, and every awkward phase in between. The man knows my life story better than some therapists.

So when he casually asks, "So... how much?" he's not talking about money. He's referring to how much hair he should cut. And he knows—oh, does he know—that I'm ridiculously attached to my hair. I do not like to cut it. It feels like losing (and yes, I eventually upgraded this word to "releasing," because personal growth is a journey, people) part of myself.

The Weed Takeover

But this appointment? This appointment was about color. You see, dear reader, in those five months, my hair was taken over by weeds. You know how they do in a lawn? Those sneaky invaders that start as one or two innocent strands and suddenly stage a full coup? My roots were staging a rebellion. A botanical uprising right there on my head.

I took a deep breath—the kind you take before jumping into cold water or confronting your credit card statement—and answered: "As much as you need to so that it's healthy."

There it was. The surrender. The acceptance. Cutting the hair represents releasing the old me I've outgrown and no longer need, so I can be healthy, beautiful, and happy. Turns out, letting go of the past sometimes starts with something as simple as trusting your hairdresser with a pair of scissors and admitting that what once served you has now become just dead weight you're carrying around.

Next month's appointment, he becomes a carefully crafted artist, painting watercolors in the form of highlights on my head. But first, we need to talk about why we get so hunched up about cutting our hair in the first place.

Why Letting Go of the Past Feels Like Losing Ourselves

Hair is dead cells, dear reader. Scientifically speaking, we're literally clinging to corpses on our heads. And yet, we act like every snip is a personal attack on our identity. Why?

Because somewhere along the way, we confused our hair with our worth. Our length with our story. Our style with our self. We think, "If I cut this, I'm cutting away memories, experiences, who I used to be." And you know what? We're not entirely wrong.

But here's the thing about those old versions of ourselves: they served us beautifully in their time. They got us through what we needed to get through. But holding onto them—clutching them like security blankets—keeps us from becoming who we're meant to be next.

That five-month root rebellion? That was life's gentle (okay, not-so-gentle) reminder that I was literally wearing my resistance to change on my head. The weeds were the physical manifestation of me refusing to release what no longer served me. Letting go of the past isn't about forgetting who we were—it's about making space for who we're becoming.

The Art of the Necessary Cut

We do this in all areas of life, don't we? We stay in jobs that drain us because they're familiar. We maintain relationships that no longer nourish us because we've "invested so much time." We keep habits, thoughts, and patterns that we've outgrown because cutting them away feels like losing ourselves.

But what if—stay with me here—what if those cuts are exactly how we find ourselves?

When I finally said, "Cut as much as you need to so it's healthy," I wasn't just talking about split ends. I was giving myself permission to release the version of me that thought she needed to hold onto everything. The version that equated letting go with loss rather than liberation. The truth is, letting go of the past means recognizing that some things need to be cut away—not because they were bad, but because they're no longer helping us grow.

Your Highlights Are Coming

Here's what I know now, dear reader: every release creates space for renewal. Every ending is an invitation to a new beginning. Every cut prepares you for your highlights—those beautiful, intentional touches that make you shine.

Next month, my hairdresser will artfully paint new dimension into my hair. But that magic is only possible because I was willing to release what was damaged and unhealthy first.

So ask yourself: What past version of yourself are you still clutching? What old identity are you dragging around, weighing you down, keeping you from being healthy, beautiful, and happy—in whatever way those words mean to you?

The scissors are scary, I know. But so is staying stuck in who you used to be when you're meant to become so much more.

And your highlights? They're waiting on the other side of your courage to let go.

About the Author | Day 116

I am a soul-led coach, entrepreneur, and someone who just realized that my resistance to change has been literally growing out of my head for five months—and I'm finally ready to cut it loose.

I work with people who are clinging to old versions of themselves because letting go feels terrifying, people who confuse their worth with their external appearance or achievements, and anyone who's ever avoided necessary change because the familiar (even when unhealthy) feels safer than the unknown—but you're ready now, ready to release what no longer serves you so you can step into who you're becoming.

I believe that letting go of the past isn't about loss—it's about liberation. I believe that we hold onto dead ends (literally and metaphorically) because we've confused our identity with our history, forgetting that every release creates space for renewal. I believe that transformation requires trust—trust in the process, trust in the people who know us well enough to see what we need even when we can't, and trust that what's waiting on the other side of our surrender is always better than what we're clutching in fear. And I believe that sometimes the universe delivers its most powerful lessons in the most ordinary moments—like a hairdresser's chair, where you finally say "as much as you need to so it's healthy" and mean it about so much more than just your hair.

One necessary cut, one brave release, one step toward renewal at a time.

Thank you for releasing the old with me and embracing the new, Dear Reader. ❤️