Long | Annalise Lamberty

I didn’t cut my hair for the first time until I was six. It grew out thin and delicate for years, tickling my ears, then my chin, then the nape of my neck. The ladies who came to my mom for healing fawned over me, tugging through it from the roots, asking my mom what home remedies or spells she used to keep it so beautiful. “He’s a little kid,” she would say. “That’s just how his hair is. No magic required.”

I didn’t know why I had to keep my hair so long. Whenever my mom would rake it back into a ponytail I would ask why I couldn’t shave it all off like the boys at school. “Not until you’re six,” she’d say. “Witches grow their hair out until they’re six. Then we can cut it off. I did the same thing.”

“But you’re a girl! It’s different!” Continue reading “Long | Annalise Lamberty”