Once I finish growing out my armpit hair and stop removing my upper lip hair, I will be my whole self for the first time.

The cute guy I sat next to in sixth-grade science leaned over one day and asked me why I had a mustache. My friend scrutinized my upper lip. “Whoa! You totally have a mustache! It’s so dark,” she said. “I never even noticed it before!” That night I casually mentioned the incident to my mother, trying to seem unfazed. I was relieved when she explained that she bleached her own upper lip hair. “Do you want to try it?” In high school, we switched to Nair and began removing it completely. “Whoops – looks like it’s time to do your thing again,” we’d remind each other, motioning discretely.

I have been shaving my legs since the day before my thirteenth birthday. I remember at my birthday party whispering to my friend, “Feel my legs!” She responded appreciatively, “Oh, so smooth!” She had been shaving for a few months at that point, and we both started shaving our armpits the next month. We never thought to ask what we were subtracting from ourselves.

Before freshman year officially started, I went with my volleyball team on a preseason beach trip and learned to shave my bikini line. Some people waxed theirs, but I was scared to bring up the idea to my mother. She hated for girls to shave their pubic hair. “Why would you want to look like a child down there?” she asked.

The summer before tenth grade, I was at a playground with my boyfriend, and in the spot of mulch under the slide, he went down on me for the first time. He came back up with my curled brown hairs on his tongue. I apologized as he wiped them off. “Yeah, it’s just, you know, not so great with all of the hair,” he said. “It’s kind of scratchy.” Maybe he didn’t mean it to be an accusation.

A few days later, after building up the courage, I spent half an hour in the shower shaving my pubes with an increasingly blunt razor. (Razors are just not meant for so much hair.) I felt daring, defying my mother, but also ashamed of letting her down and giving into the patriarchy. This is my choice, I chanted in my head as the bathtub filled with little curlicues of hair, clogging the drain. I want this for my own pleasure, so it’s my choice.

My mission was to get rid of all potentially offensive hair. Thoughtful friends pointed out that I could use tweezers to get rid of the darker hairs between my eyebrows. I taught myself to shave my stomach so that my happy trail didn’t gross anyone out at the pool, in the locker room or during sex. A comment about a teacher’s hairy knuckles had me plucking the hairs on my own hands, and even my little toe knuckles. I felt feminist pride when I wore sandals without plucking.

In college, going a long time without shaving was a mark of how hard you were working. We didn’t have time to shave, until it was Saturday night. The volleyball team had shaving parties in the showers after our away games, feeling our smooth legs on long bus rides back to campus, imagining someone else feeling them in our beds after a party later that night. Only two people I knew didn’t shave their pubes. (Not that I go around asking about people’s pubes that often.)

Now, I am studying abroad in India. Away from the social expectations of my own culture, I am freer to say “eff you” to the patriarchy that lives in my own head and experiment with my appearance.

I haven’t shaved my legs or pubes since I arrived two months ago. At first, I saw a man’s legs when I looked down. I was uncomfortable in shorts as the hair grew in darker on the inside of my thighs. Now, I kind of like the way my hair gets progressively thicker and darker as it progresses up over my pubic mound. I like the way the pubic hairs mark a V in the mirror, accenting the curve of my hips and waist. I like the way they feel soft and cool curled against my skin after I shower. At 21, I’m seeing and loving my woman’s body for the first time.

I also got my hair cut to chin-length, the shortest it’s been since the infamous “Bandana Girl” days of freshman year volleyball when I wore bandanas to practice every day because my hair was too short for a ponytail. I got my nose pierced, and when my razor became too dull, I chucked it. I don’t know if I’m ready to stop Nair-ing my mustache yet, though. I’m working on building up the courage.

I’d played with having short hair, thought about getting my nose pierced and experimented with not shaving in the past. But I’d always made excuses for myself. I was more comfortable believing that I needed to have longer hair and couldn’t get my nose pierced because of volleyball, wouldn’t like the feeling of hairy legs, or wouldn’t get as much sexual pleasure if I didn’t shave. I let myself be influenced by the norms I saw around me, even though I’ve always admired women with hairy legs and armpits, with nose rings, with short hair.

Though the changes in my appearance may seem sudden and dramatic to my family and friends, I’m just finally doing what I always wished I had the guts to do. Having tried on all these choices I had admired for so long, I know I don’t want to go back. I already know that it will be an internal fight to keep my short hair and not shave, especially during volleyball season. There are norms on the team and even at competitions.

But I know now that I don’t want to be bowed by these social pressures. I don’t want to give into self-doubt or question my own choices. I know I want to look like this. I don’t want to spend a long time shaving or primping. These are my choices. Other women may be more comfortable shaving this or that, but now that I know what I want, I refuse to let their choices or society’s expectations of me define what I want or who I am.*

*Yeah… So that’s my hairstory. Right now I’m feeling very badass and powerful because I’m doing what I want. But I know that during the hot summer, when I want to feel sexy and when I start volleyball season, I’m going to come up with all sorts of excuses about why I should change my appearance. Maybe some of them are legitimate — I do love the feeling of my smooth legs rubbing against each other when I’m falling asleep at night. So I’m going to try to power through the most challenging moments, but I also want to forgive myself if I shave or pluck some hair every once in a while. Reclaiming my mind from the influences of the patriarchy is a long-term project. I need to love myself and keep working on it, even if I’m not always proud of the choices I make.