Shorter Hair, Bigger Lessons

I always imagined myself as one of those women with a crown of flowing silver hair—a little wild, a little wise. But life, as it often does, had other plans.

For most of my life, I’ve had long, super-thick hair—my signature look, my constant. I pictured myself at 70 with cascading gray locks, timeless and a little like a storybook sage. It felt good; it felt right.

Then came the curveball. This year, my hair started thinning. Within six months, I had lost half of what I once had. My once-luxurious locks became dry, scraggly, and unrecognizable.

For awhile, I resisted. I tried shortening it bit by bit, hoping the healthier parts would grow stronger and thicker. I took vitamins and tried every "miracle" solution I could find. While I’ve never been overly invested in my appearance, losing so much hair shook me. It wasn't just about aesthetics—it was about identity. My long hair had been a part of me. The change felt like a subtle but significant signal that I was transitioning into a different stage of life—an older woman who had to let go of what once was.

As the end of the year approached, my hair still wasn’t bouncing back. That’s when I realized: it wasn’t just my hair I was holding on to—it was the story. The vision. The attachment. So while visiting my daughter in Arizona, I decided it was time. I booked an appointment with a skilled stylist, took a deep breath, and let her cut off eight more inches.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. I'd spent the year quietly processing this change, grappling with what it meant to let go of a piece of my identity. When the scissors did their work, I was ready. I won’t lie and say I’m obsessed with the new look—it’s fine, and I’m okay with it. The hope is that my new growth will catch up, becoming thicker and healthier. But even if this shorter length is my forever, I’m at peace with it.

The Art of Letting Go

Letting go is a constant rhythm in life. Whether it’s something as seemingly small as hair or something as monumental as a relationship, a dream, or a phase of life, it requires courage. It forces us to face our attachment to the stories we’ve written about ourselves.

For me, as someone who leads from Type 4 on the Enneagram, it was about recognizing the emotional significance I had given to my hair. Fours often attach deep meaning to things—a lock of hair can symbolize creativity, identity, even freedom. Letting go feels like losing a part of ourselves, but it also creates space for something new.

Letting Go, Enneagram Type by Type

The process of letting go—whether of hair, identity, relationships, or dreams—feels different for everyone. The Enneagram offers insights into how each of us might approach this universal experience. Here’s how the nine types might navigate a change like this:

• Type 1 (The Reformer):
  **Ones might view thinning hair as a problem to fix, diving into research on treatments and remedies. Letting go would mean making peace with imperfection and learning to accept things as they are—no “fix” needed.

• Type 2 (The Helper):
  For Twos, hair might symbolize how they present themselves to the world or care for others. Letting go could mean realizing their worth isn’t tied to their appearance and that they are loved simply for being who they are.

• Type 3 (The Achiever):
  Threes might worry about how others will perceive them with thinning or short hair. Letting go for them would be about embracing authenticity over image, recognizing their true value lies within.

• Type 4 (The Individualist):
  As a Four, I felt the emotional weight of my hair. It wasn’t just hair; it was a symbol of my identity and self-expression. Letting go required me to sit with those feelings, grieve the loss, and ultimately find beauty in change and renewal.

• Type 5 (The Investigator):
  Fives might approach the issue logically, learning everything they can about hair thinning. But letting go for a Five would mean stepping out of their heads and into their hearts, allowing themselves to feel the vulnerability of change.

• Type 6 (The Loyalist):
  Sixes might feel anxious about what thinning hair symbolizes—aging, health concerns, uncertainty. Letting go would involve trusting themselves and the process, finding security in knowing they are more than their external changes.

• Type 7 (The Enthusiast):
  **Sevens might try to distract themselves, jumping from one new idea or treatment to the next to avoid the discomfort of loss. Letting go would mean sitting with their feelings, facing the change head-on, and finding joy in what’s next.

• Type 8 (The Challenger):
  **Eights might try to take control, pushing hard against the reality of thinning hair. Letting go for them would be about softening, accepting what they can’t control, and finding strength in vulnerability.

• Type 9 (The Peacemaker):
  Nines might avoid dealing with the issue, brushing it aside (literally and figuratively). Letting go would mean actively choosing to care for themselves, honoring their needs, and finding peace in the change.

The Bigger Picture

As the new year begins, I’m reminded that letting go isn’t always easy, but it’s often necessary. Sometimes, we’re forced to let go by circumstances beyond our control; other times, we choose it intentionally because it’s in our best interest. Either way, it’s a process of growth and renewal.

Now, when I look in the mirror, I don’t just see shorter hair. I see resilience. I see the promise of something new—healthier strands, sure, but also a healthier relationship with myself. Letting go of my long hair made space for me to appreciate the journey I’m on and to celebrate the courage it took to embrace change.

The truth is, letting go is rarely about the thing itself—it’s about what it represents. And when we make peace with that, we open ourselves to the possibility of something better.

So here’s to 2024: a year of letting go where needed, holding on to what matters, and welcoming growth in all its messy, beautiful forms.

Love is ALL there is,

Diana