My hair has been an ordeal for me probably as early as my first haircut. Of course, I don’t remember it, but I also can’t remember a time when a haircut didn’t come with massive amounts of stress. Hair has always been directly correlated with anxiety for me. If I’m stressed or anxious or having a mild panic attack my first instinct is to reach for the scissors and start chopping. Ultimately, this creates a vicious cycle of stress-trimming an okay haircut into a bad haircut into a worse haircut until I pick up the clippers and we get to the main point of this article: why I continue to shave my head.

The first time was out of necessity.

Graduating high school gave me the freedom I was craving and over the summer before college I dyed my hair pink. And then white. And then pink again. And then silver. And then pink again. And then finally, powder blue, which I hated. I think I had it blue for about a week before I decided that I couldn’t stand it, but my scalp was so burned and my hair was so done that I couldn’t possibly do anything about it. I went to Target and bought the clippers, drove home and put some candles on, and quickly, before I changed my mind, took the plunge.

The second time wasn’t planned.

I grew my hair out for a few months and got to a good pixie length. I was happy with it and dyed it pink again (apparently that was my go-to color). Does everyone remember the Skrillex trend? The one-side-of-your-head-shaved-but-the-other-side-is-long trend? I thought it was so cool that I could have the best of both worlds on the same head and I really, really wanted to be a part of this trend, so I got out my clippers and promptly messed up my hair to the point of no return. I cried just a little and took it one step further to bald again.

The third time was an attempt to find myself.

About this time in my life I had been in community college a little too long, I had been in a relationship a little too long, and I was basically just floating around complacently - not something a twenty-one-year-old should be doing. I decided to start having fun; I took classes that I didn’t need that were enjoyable and taught me information that I still remember and use now; I got a fun job at a restaurant and had fun coworkers and used all of my cash tips to get impulsive tattoos; I did whatever I wanted to my hair: I grew it and shaved weird parts of it, I dyed it, I shaved it all off and then started the cycle over again.

The fourth time was out of frustration.

Ironically, while I was finding myself in college, I also lost myself. I definitely don’t regret anything but I think it's possible that I got so caught up in trying to find myself that I forgot what I was looking for – I found a lot of good things, but I missed a lot on the way. I ended up alone on New Year’s Eve and decided to make a few resolutions, one of which was growing my hair out for good. So I shaved it one last time, this time with a pink plastic razor. It was the cleanest, freshest start that I could think of. I held true to my resolution for two years and grew my hair down to my shoulders – longer than it had been in about five years.

I’ll pause here and take the time to throw in some tips on growing out your hair – this applies from anyone who just shaved their head, to that awkward length somewhere between the bottom of your earlobe and your jawline. First, get a hat. Or scarf, or headband. There will be days where you don’t want to deal with hair at all. Also get bobby pins and clips and hair product. There will also be days when you have to deal with it and you need everything in your arsenal to make it work. Get regular trims (from a professional) for the health of your hair and also your sanity. There are many, many awkward stages that you’ll go through and having someone else in charge really helps. If you give up the responsibility then you can break the vicious cycle and hopefully you won’t end up like me. Which leads me to…

The fifth time I shaved my head I was beating the system.

I shaved my head for the last time (I swear this time Mom!) about a month ago. There was really no reasoning behind my decision: my hair was healthy, it was longer than ever before, and everyone thought that my head-shaving days were over, including me. I took a short trip up north to visit a friend and came home bald; I left all of my hair and the ghost of my early twenties on my friend’s porch in Nor-Cal. This was my first positive shave. It was still powered by a certain anxiety, but instead of that dark, looming feeling of not recognizing yourself in the mirror, there was a fluttering excitement fueled by knowing I can rock it, and like everyone says, it grows back.