In my last few months at the church, I started cutting my hair.

First, I cut my bangs. My hair was quite long, but when I put it into a ponytail, I liked how I looked a little boyish with the bangs.

Later, I got my hair cut into a short pixie cut.

When I came to church after cutting my hair short, people made comments left and right. People were surprised, and not in a good way. “I guess there’s nothing you can do to fix it now,” one sister lamented.

A missionary had just complimented my long, curled hair the previous day. When she saw me, she said “Well, that’s the last time I’m going to compliment your hair.”

I wasn’t actually that satisfied with my haircut—it looked too feminine—and wanted to cut it even shorter. The reactions from people at church made me feel that if I really did cut my hair into a full-on masculine cut I would not be accepted.

That carried implications for me. I couldn’t be myself in the church. I couldn’t step away from the prescribed image and role and still be treated like family.

It made me start to realize that my whole identity was shaped and controlled by the church, in more ways than just appearance. And I didn’t like it.

I decided I wasn’t going back.