Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen

After a year and some months of growing my hair out I believe I have passed the point where I can offically claim that I have long hair.

Back in May, 2005 when I had all the layers cut out of my hair and I began the growing out process my hair was just below my ears. I'd be hoping it would be jaw length but to get rid of that final layer I had to lose another half inch. On that same day I had my photo taken to use on my German residency permit and it serves to remind me of the starting point of my transition from short to long hair.

By early autumn my hair had reached below my jawline. Still considered a short hairdo and I could make a teeny tiny ponytail.

Mid-winter had my hair reaching the tops of my shoulders and I could make a better ponytail. I'd gone from short haired into the murky reaches of "medium length".

Now my hair reaches the middle of my shoulder blades. All of stays behind my shoulders without creeping forward and when I make a high ponytail the bottom still touches my shoulders. I'll get a trim in a couple months (the ends have been trimmed twice since I started the process) and I'll let it grow a bit longer but that's it.

Years ago if asked whether I'd have long hair again I'd have answered with a resounding no. I'd convinced myself that long hair wasn't for me.

When I was in grade school I had long hair. Really long hair. Waist length long hair. Then one day when I was twelve or thirteen I cut my hair up to my shoulders and the following years saw it get shorter and shorter. Never pixie short but short enough. Once in a while I'd have a bit longer style - at one point it was a bit below my shoulders - but in the end my mother would convince me that I needed to cut it short again.

I've come to the realization that all these years have seen me style my hair in the way I thought my mother would like. I was convinced that long hair was silly for anyone over the age of fifteen and was too fussy and impractical for the likes of me. It turns out that it really wasn't for the likes of me but for the likes of my mom. Long hair isn't for her and I assumed it meant that it wasn't for me either.

So last May when I made the decision to stop cutting my hair I was really making a decision to break with what my mother wants or at least what I perceive she wants. I have spent so many years and have been in so many situations where I decided to do or not do things based on what my mother would do or would want. It had nothing to do with what I thought would be best for me - instead it was me taking the path of least resistance...the least resistance to my mother's disapproval. And when I say "my mother's disapproval", I don't mean the feeling of letting her down...I mean having to hear her harp on it. I can endure a lot of things but my mother's harping isn't one of them.

I've not told my mother that I have grown out my hair. I assume she'll see the photos from my sister's vacation and see for herself how long my hair is and my sister will likely fill her in on how long my hair actually is. And if I ever said "Mama, the reason I never grew my hair long again was because of you.", she'd deny it. Maybe it's true. Maybe she would have not cared one way or another but the perception that she would have disapproved was reason enough for me.

I like my hair being long. It gets a little wavy/curly/fuzzy-ish in the humidity, but I still like it. I like being able to put it up when it gets hot. I like curling it and using pretty clips in it. I like the feeling of it brushing along my skin. I like that it feels more girly to me.

And I like that it reminds me that I need to do things because they're best for me and they're what I want and not do them just to please someone else. All of my hair could fall out one day and I would have missed the chance to have long hair one more time if I'd kept to what I perceived was expected of me.

My MIL doesn't seem to like my long hair. I still go to the hairdresser every six weeks to have my roots touched up and to have my bangs cut and every time I do she says to me "Are you going to get your hair cut?". When I tell her "Not just yet." she purses her lips a bit and then gives a little nervous laugh to cover up that she's disapproving.

I'm not backing down though. I'm going to keep it long until it stops being good for me. And since my hairdresser doesn't want to cut my hair yet, it could take a while.