The Unexpected Milestone
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Written by Alex Thompson
As a mom for more than fifteen years, I’ve crossed the typical milestones of motherhood: sleeping in, enjoying solo bathroom time, and being addressed as “Dude.” However, I recently embarked on a transformative milestone that I never anticipated.
I can’t quite recall the exact moment I decided to stop dyeing my hair to conceal the grays that had been sprouting since my youngest child was born. It likely happened while I was juggling meal prep for my family—who all have different tastes—and questioning whether my child, who claimed to be too ill for school, was being honest or just flexing their pandemic privileges.
Honestly, how does a mom find the time to color her hair after enduring nearly two years of pandemic stress? And perhaps a better question is why do we feel compelled to use the little time we have for ourselves to mask our age? I was expected to be the pillar of strength for my family, filling the voids left by our society’s broken systems while maintaining an appearance that conformed to conventional standards of beauty—all while sacrificing my career ambitions for the exhausting role of the one who keeps everything together. No thanks.
That realization hit hard when I transitioned from the thought of “I’ll gradually let my grays show” to grabbing clippers and shaving my head on New Year’s Eve. I wanted to embrace my gray hair from the start and send a defiant message against the societal pressures that dictate that women must look youthful while caring for others.
Let’s be real: I didn’t just shave my head to rebel against gender norms. I had fantasized about it for years. What would I look like? (I had convinced myself I’d resemble a mole—but in truth, I looked like a bold, post-apocalyptic version of myself.) How would it feel to run my hands over my scalp? (It was as wonderful as I’d imagined.) And how liberating would it be to emerge from the shower and not worry about styling like men do? (It was blissful.) Shaving my head was a bucket list item, and I thought, why shouldn’t I do this just because I feared not fitting traditional beauty standards?
So I did it. Clumps of hair fell into the sink, along with the belief that my worth was tied to being deemed cute by the male gaze. It was astonishing how many societal expectations my hair had represented. As I looked at my reflection, filled with a sense of empowerment, I explored the sensation of my new stubble, experiencing something entirely fresh. Such moments of pure individuality are rare amidst the daily grind of motherhood, and I relished in the newness for a good ten minutes.
In the days that followed, I felt the urge to wear heavy makeup and big earrings to make my new shaved head more socially acceptable while out shopping. A woman with a shaved head often faces stereotypes and misconceptions, and during that first week, I found myself donning mascara and silver hoops to signal I was “safe.” I wasn’t yet comfortable in my new skin, especially when strangers stared or apologized for accidentally bumping into me. I worried they might mistake me for a cancer survivor or a punk rocker. In reality, I was just a mom tired of sacrificing too much in motherhood, feeling constrained by my role.
Did I mention I’m also worn out? I’d rather spend my “free” time napping than styling my hair. I wanted a fresh start, a simplified life, and to see a new version of myself as I entered this next chapter. That felt completely right, so I soon ditched the mascara and hoops and embraced my authentic self. When my traditional 80-year-old mother saw me via FaceTime for the first time, she gasped and exclaimed, “You’re stunning!” Her surprise matched my own.
I don’t know where this journey will lead. Maybe it’s just a stop before I decide to try a pixie cut. Who knows if I’ll keep it shaved or grow it back? However, having a shaved head has impacted my mindset; when faced with tough choices, I often find myself asking, “What would a woman with a shaved head do?” This shift empowers me to set firmer boundaries and practice self-respect. For instance, when a man stood too close to me in line at a store, I realized that a woman with a shaved head doesn’t shy away; she tells him to back off—without an apology.
Looking back, I recognize that shaving my head was an act of self-care—not the superficial kind marketed to mothers, but genuine self-care that disrupts toxic norms and reclaims what is rightfully ours as women and mothers.
If you’re a mom reading this and thinking, “I wish I could shave my head,” let me tell you: you absolutely can. If you feel you can’t, take a moment to ponder why. What’s holding you back?
Recently, I went on a weekend getaway and for the first time since childhood, I didn’t pack a blow dryer, curling iron, or straightener. My load was lightened—quite literally.