Why I Cut My Hair, Stripped My Closet, and Put My Life in Storage

This piece was written by one of our dear readers—a woman with something real to say. Each month, we handpick the best submissions for Dear Reader because we’re after that PROVOKED bite: truth, intelligence, and heart. These stories come from women our age—women who’ve lived enough to know better and still care enough to tell it anyway. Because being seen and heard matters. Because storytelling is how we stitch ourselves to one another. And because when one woman speaks her truth, another finally recognizes her own. — Susan Dabbar, Editor-in-Chief

What started as a style reset turned into a much harder question about what I was really spending my time, money, and energy on.

“If you don’t like where you are, move. You’re not a tree.” That Jim Rohn quote has been a guiding light for me.

I’ve invested seven figures into myself—formal education, informal education, personal development. I was used to adding more: more knowledge, more skills, more stuff. (I looove to shop!) But during a personal transformation experience, everything changed. I began compressing the time between decision and consequence, becoming the sacred executioner of my own life—deciding, acting, and quantum-jumping into the future I desire.

Our future doesn’t have to look like our past.

I’ve lived it—literally.

The Hidden Cost of Looking the Part

I’ve been an Army soldier, Air Force officer, federal lawyer, chef, entrepreneur, international speaker, and author. These weren’t just jobs; they were transformations. Reinventions. And the most recent one started not with a big life event, but with a simple question:

“What’s interfering with my mission, my vision, my purpose? What’s consuming my time, energy, money, focus, and attention?”

The first answer?

My clothes.

As someone who travels and shows up in the world as a brand, what I wore had become a constant drain. What to pack, what to pair, how to stand out. It was decision fatigue disguised as personal expression. So I made a bold move: I packed up everything that wasn’t black, white, or gold—my signature colors—and put it in storage. Just for 90 days. That made it playful, not painful.

I was shocked at how much I already had. Suddenly, everything matched. Getting dressed became effortless. I had more time and focus because I had one less thing stealing my bandwidth.

So I asked again: “What else is taking from me?”

The answer hit me in the mirror: My hair.

My glorious, recognizable crown—also a full-time job. Hours in salons. Hundreds of dollars. Daily styling. The tugging, the frizz, the stress. I realized I had been treating my hair like a mask, one I had to keep perfect in order to be accepted.

But what if I didn’t?

I got in the car, drove to the salon, and told my stylist, “Cut it all off.”

She hesitated. So she asked her barber to cut it, after I promised not to cry or punch him. He shaved my head, and she dyed what was left honey gold. And I walked out feeling free.

I didn’t stop there.

My nails—another resource drain. Appointments, money, pain, upkeep. I told the nail tech, “Take them off.” I switched to elegant press-ons. I still feel beautiful, but I stopped making it the priority.

Because this wasn’t about hair, nails, or clothes.

This was about sequence.

What I Was Actually Prioritizing

For years, I believed I wasn’t superficial because these things were how I “showed up,” as if putting beauty first was a requirement for belonging or worthiness. But the truth is, my time, money, and attention were out of order.

When I shifted my focus away from maintaining the mask and toward living the mission, everything changed. My confidence surged. My impact grew. And the response from others? Overwhelmingly positive.

The deeper question: What was I making room for?

For six years, I built my publishing company, helping people become bestselling authors. But I’d put my own books on hold. I slowed down my speaking. Until this moment of pause and reflection made it clear—I was ready to return to the stage, to help others step into their financial freedom and gifts.

But there was a catch.

I’d done it before—gone from a million dollars in debt to debt-free. But after a divorce, a cross-continental move, and rebuilding again, I found myself financially tangled once more.

The inner critic screamed: Who are YOU to teach this?

And yet, I was exactly the one. In my 53 years, I’ve fallen. I’ve risen. And I’ve learned how to create freedom not from pretending, but from practicing. I know the systems. I know the mindset. And now I have the self-awareness to lead from experience, not ego.

Letting go of the superficial gave me more energy for my business, my family, and my joy. This didn’t just change how I looked. It rebuilt my strength. My time went to what truly matters, not what merely looks like it does.

I’ve met women around the world, in every culture, career, and chapter of life. And no matter how brilliant or bold, almost all of them wrestle with feeling not enough. So we hyper-focus on appearance. Maybe it’s a way to control what feels uncontrollable—our value, our worth. Maybe it’s armor. Or just how we’ve been conditioned.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look amazing.

The problem is when it comes first—before our gifts, our voices, our missions. When that happens, we rob the best of ourselves in order to fund the mask.

What Changed When I Reordered My Life

Today I still wear bold clothes. My nails sparkle again. But now so do my calendar and my inner fire. When we reverse the sequence—putting purpose before polish—our impact and confidence all rise. We still get to shine, but now from the inside out.

So ask yourself:

• What’s your soul-deep mission?
• What are you denying yourself because you “don’t have the time, money, or energy”?
• What do you love so much you’d do it for free—if only you could?
• What if you got up tomorrow and stepped into the world more fully, more honestly, more YOU?
• What if you cared more about how you feel than what they think?
• Who would you be then?

It belongs at the top of your life—not buried under hair, nails, or who the world told you to be.

Some will love it. Some won’t. So what?

There’s a deep peace that lives in the mirror when you stop performing for the world and start pouring into your purpose.

That woman—the real you—is ready.