When the Scissors Hit, So Did Freedom

This week I made a decision I never thought I would make, at least not any time soon. After nearly sixteen years of carrying dreadlocks down my back, I sat in the chair and told the barber, “Take it off.” I’ve trimmed before, cut a few inches here and there, shaped it up, even let go of a handful of locs when they started thinning, but I had never done what people in our culture call “the big chop.” That final letting go. That clean start. That bold moment where you stop holding on to what was and give yourself permission to be something new. This week, I did it.

The crazy thing is, the first reaction I got from almost everybody was, “Man, you look so much younger.” Folks who’ve known me for years did a double take. Some didn’t even recognize me at first glance. And at first, I brushed it off, smiled, said thank you, but then it hit me—this wasn’t just about hair. It wasn’t just about inches of locs hitting the floor. This was about me cutting off weight. Not just dead weight at the ends of my hair, but the dead weight I had been carrying in life. Bad habits I held on to too long. Relationships I should’ve let go of years ago. Memories that had grown heavy like buildup in my locs. All of it felt like it fell to the floor with every snip of the scissors.

And when I looked in the mirror afterward, I didn’t just see a younger version of me. I saw a freer version of me. A man no longer dragging around what should’ve been cut loose a long time ago. My scalp felt lighter, but more than that—my soul felt lighter. It was life-changing, refreshing, necessary.

But let me be real with you—stepping into the world with a fresh cut as a Black man, especially after wearing locs for so long, opened my eyes to something deeper. I went to a couple events this week, and I couldn’t help but notice the shift in how I was treated. The looks lasted a little longer, but they weren’t the same looks. The conversations felt a little different, the tone, the respect, the way doors opened just a little quicker. It made me uncomfortable, not because I didn’t enjoy the change, but because it reminded me how much people really do judge a book by its cover. We say that phrase all the time, almost like a cliché, but I lived it in real time. With my locs, I was seen one way. With a cut, I was seen another. Same man, same heart, same story—different response.

And here’s the part that stings: I don’t think many Black men fully know how much those locks carry in the eyes of the world. We’ve gotten used to saying, “They gotta accept me as I am,” and I agree with that to a point. Nobody should be forced to cut their hair to be valued. Nobody should feel like they have to conform just to be respected. Locs carry history, identity, culture, strength. They’re a crown. But at the same time, we live in a world where the deck is stacked against us from the jump. The odds ain’t in our favor. And sometimes, whether we want to admit it or not, we put barriers on ourselves too. Not because locs are bad, but because perception is real. Bias is real. People’s assumptions are real.

Cutting my hair wasn’t about trying to fit into somebody else’s box. It wasn’t about selling out or losing myself. It was about removing barriers I no longer wanted to carry. Some of them were external, but a lot of them were internal. I had to look at myself and ask, “Am I holding on to this for me, or am I holding on because I’m scared of what I’ll look like without it?” And that question stretched far beyond hair. How many things in life do we hold on to simply because we’re afraid of what life looks like without them? That job we hate but keep clocking in at. That relationship that died years ago but we keep pretending is alive. That habit that’s killing us but feels too comfortable to let go of. Sometimes, you gotta do your own big chop.

When I cut my locs, I wasn’t just letting go of hair—I was letting go of seasons that had already passed. Those locs had seen some things. They had soaked up tears, sweat, smoke, and prayers. They had been through breakups, makeups, funerals, and victories. They had been tugged on by my kids and patted on by strangers. They carried years of history, but they also carried years of heaviness. And I realized I was holding on to all of it. Cutting them off was symbolic. It was me saying, “I’m ready for new growth. I’m ready for a new season. I’m ready for God to show me what’s next without me holding on to what’s old.”

The thing about hair is—it grows back. It comes back fresh, stronger, fuller if you take care of it. And life is the same way. When you let go of something that’s dead, God always makes room for something new to grow. But you’ll never see it until you’re willing to cut. That’s the part that takes courage. That’s the part that scares us. But that’s also the part that sets us free.

I walked into those events with my head held high, not because of how people looked at me differently, but because of how I looked at myself differently. I felt renewed. And I want to encourage somebody reading this: don’t be afraid of the big chop in your life. Don’t be afraid of a new look, a new path, a new chapter. Sometimes we wait on people to change how they see us, but maybe God is waiting on us to change how we see ourselves.

I can’t lie, I loved my locs. They were a part of me. But this season called for something different. This season called for me to look in the mirror and recognize a man who wasn’t afraid to let go. This season called for me to feel lighter, freer, more open to whatever God has next. And if a haircut could do that for me, imagine what cutting off some of the other things could do for you. Imagine what happens when you finally let go of that dead relationship, that dead mindset, that dead sin, that dead fear. Imagine the growth, the freedom, the youthfulness that comes rushing back when you’re not weighed down anymore.

At the end of the day, hair is hair. But the meaning we tie to it? That’s deeper. And while the world may judge me differently with a cut than they did with locs, I know who I am hasn’t changed. The real difference is that I’ve learned to embrace change for myself. I’ve learned that renewal sometimes requires release. And I’ve learned that you don’t have to hold on to everything that’s been with you just because it’s been with you.

So yeah, I cut my hair this week. But more than that—I cut ties with the weight I no longer needed. I cut free from the idea that I had to stay the same to stay me. And I cut into a new season where faith, freedom, and freshness meet. My prayer is that whoever reads this finds the courage to make their own big chop, whatever it may be, and to step boldly into the newness waiting on the other side.