This three-part series traces how my hair became a mirror of my mental health, identity, and neurodivergent experience. It's about colour, commitment, rebellion, care, and what it means to be visibly oneself in a world that prefers subtlety and conformity.
Part 1: I Am My Hair
A personal story about hair as identity, resilience, and self-expression. How colour became a beacon for mental health, confidence, and neurodivergent authenticity.
Years ago, a friend and co-worker sang a song at a company talent show called “I am not my hair” by India.Arie Simpson. The song and Teaner gave me an unexpected, lasting, and profound understanding of how culture judges others based on appearance beyond skin colour and physical differences. Teaner won that year! I had won the year before.
I am not my hair by India.Arie Simpson: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_5jIt0f5Z4
My hair has always been very personal to me. It’s how I identify and express myself. At the time, I was working for a company, YAI, that genuinely understood what it meant to bring your “Authentic Self” to work. And for me, authenticity has always been colourful.
For as long as I’ve been able to choose how my hair is styled or coloured, I have expressed myself, my moods, and my life stages through a whole array of cuts and colours.
I am my hair.
Or at least… my hair is the best metric for gauging my mood, confidence, and self-esteem.
When I’m completely natural, I blend in, I hug the metaphorical walls, and I conform. I become smaller, quieter, more palatable.
But when my hair stops people in their tracks? I’m living my most authentic, productive, emotionally open and focused life. I’ve always been different; I always knew I was different, but unlike most people who are “different”, mine wasn’t always visible, or easy to explain.
My hair became my signal. A beacon. A warning. An invitation.
Hair as an Emotional Barometer
When my hair is bold, I’m bold. When it's “normal”, I’m dull. I don’t always recognise the shift until I see it on my head.
When I’m going through darker mental health periods, like 10 months ago, the hair is still loud, but the girl underneath is struggling. Imagine being depressed with “talk to me hair” and the cutest puppy that ever existed. It’s hard to hide from interactions when you look like you just rolled out of a unicorn-themed rock concert.
The more I’m forced to engage, the less anxious I feel about the future. It’s almost like my hair is dragging me toward humanity, even when my brain would rather hide.
The Walls we Hug and the Stages we Claim
There were years when I intentionally tried not to be noticed. Times when I thought fitting in would be safer and easier. But hair has always been where my rebellion leaks out. Even when the rest of me was camouflaged, my hair would eventually betray my need to be seen.
When it’s bright or well styled, I’m saying, “Here I am. I exist. And I won’t be ignored.”
When it’s muted, with little effort, I’m saying, “Please don’t look at me. I don’t know who I am right now.”
Either way, my hair is honest, even when I’m not.
A Story, Not Just a Style
So no, I am not only my hair. But I am also definitely, absolutely, unapologetically my hair. It represents:
My Identity
My emotional well-being
My courage to be seen
My refusal to disappear
My neurodivergent complexity
Hair is the part of me that has always told the truth. Even when I couldn’t. Even when I didn’t want to.
Lois
Coming Next: Part 2
The Unicorn colours. The ADHD crafts(wo)manship. The love story. The hair trauma. And, the devotion to a long-term, high-maintenance relationship… with my head.
I actually get this. Not with my hair but shoes, boots and colour. 😊