As I drove down the road on my way home with India Arie’s “I Am Not My Hair” Remix featuring Akon blaring in the background, I sang to the top of my lungs-hoping that the other occupants in my vehicle (my children) were tone death; I believe I had some sort of epiphany. As India sang her ode to hair and not being defined by others standards, there I sat now in a sulken-state knowing that I could not make the same declaration. I had to own up: I, Felicia Hill, had spent the last decade molded by the images seen on television and in the theaters. I had devoted much of my time and money into the latest hairs trends and fads. I would relax my hair every four weeks, just to make sure it was “bone-straight”. I didn’t want a hair out of place because at the time, in my warped-mindset, my hair was all I had going for me-so it had to be in place at ALL times. Growing up, I was brown-skinned with no boobs and no rear end. What some would call a bean pole! The one attribute I had to help me stand out was my hair and I was determined to let that be my selling point, sort of speak. So here we were, 27 years later, riding down the rode feeling like a hypocrite with India’s uplifting lyrics now fading in the background. I had let every relationship, ex-boyfriend, job, magazine article, television show, and movie theatric define my hair and how I felt about it. I was INDEED my hair. So, I made what was one of the bigger decisions in my life (and YES, it was that serious to me) on December 10, 2013-I big chopped!! Again, fast-forwarding to almost seven months later, here I sit-extremely proud of my TWA, as I ride down the rode yet again; singing to the top of my lungs (for REAL this time), I am NOT my hair.