I stood in front of the bathroom mirror yesterday, with a pair of scissors in my hand.

When I made the first cut, it was done. There was no going back again.

Within minutes the sink was filled with chunks of black hair. And I started to feel… free.

We women seem to hold so much of our self esteem in our hair. We use it to flirt, to hide behind and to enhance our beauty.

As a child, I used to cry when my hair was cut. One of my earliest memories is of telling my mum that I wanted my hair to be so long that I could sit on it.

So not that i have barely an inch of hair on my head you could be excused for thinking that I might feel ugly, unnatractive or boyish. But I feel quite the opposite.

I honestly feel freed.

No more spending hundreds at the salon every 4-6 weeks. No more blow drying, straightening and stupidly expensive products.

And it hasn’t stopped men from flirting with me. I think its boosted my self confidence, there is no hair to get in the way of seeing the real me.

It’s all good, because I am not my hair.