How Ditching the Razor Is Healing Old Shame

I never thought I would see a day when I stopped shaving. And I’m not talking about laser hair removal. I’m talking about letting the bush grow free. In all her wild glory. I’ve shaved since I was nine years old (with official lessons from friends at 13), and I continued the habit at least once a week, and at times once a day when I was in steamy relationships, until just last year, almost 30 years later.

You know what drove me to that decision? It wasn’t laziness, even though it felt like it. It wasn’t to “stick it to the man,” even though it felt like it. It was for nervous system regulation. Yes, you heard that right. Having our body hair actually helps balance the nervous system. But before I get into that, I want to take you on a journey. So let’s travel down the rabbit hole, Alice!

It was January 2025. I left a spiritual practice and group that I loved dearly because I learned the “mentor” was indeed a massive cult leader, and a damn good one at that. I had spent two years prior to this practicing his work, and connecting deeply with his audience. I really thought I was on top of the world. I felt the best I ever had physically. My pain was going away, the depression was lifting, and I was crying from gratitude almost daily. I thought I found “my people.”

Little did I know, this practice was potentially destroying my pineal gland and wrecking my nervous system. It was spiritual bypassing at its finest. Out of the body, and into space I went. Of course, I didn’t have pain. Of course, I didn’t feel depressed. I was hopped up on my own drugs! Dissociation is a damn good drug. Probably one of the best. After all, dissociation is what leads us to the “good stuff.” Drugs, alcohol, porn, binge watching, doom scrolling, donuts at midnight… We all do it at different levels, I think. It’s tough being here sometimes.

Anyway, after I came to this realization that I was escaping my life through breathwork practices and meditation, I decided to quit cold turkey, and I was thrown into the deepest shutdown I have ever experienced. I thought the work was healing me. Nope. It had hijacked my nervous system and had its way with it.

I was in bad shape. Crying out for help from anywhere I could find it, with what little energy I had left in my body. My hormones tanked, my adrenals were crashing over and over, I couldn’t regulate my body temperature, it was horrible. I felt like I was legit coming off of hard drugs.

I hate that it’s like this sometimes with humans, but it seems that when we are faced with agony, terror, loss, hardship, etc. is when we finally get slapped across the head with a skillet that tells us to “Wake up!” I knew it was time for me to wake up. I had to. If I didn’t get my nervous system regulated, I could have very well died or slipped into serious psychosis. It was pretty serious and very scary for the first 3 months.

Once I was able to “see the light” a bit, I started learning everything I could about the nervous system. One day, in my search, I had a thought… About hair. I worked as a cosmetologist for over 10 years. I knew a lot about hair, and it was my “special interest” for a very long time. I LOVE hair for many reasons. Not the typical “it’s so pretty,” even though that is absolutely present as well. I love hair because it’s an extension of us. I started thinking about how protective hair is. Many women call their hair a “security blanket.” It keeps us warm in the winter, and protects our shoulders from the sun in the summer (when we can bear not having it up).

Do you know something else cool hair does? It signals us. Yep. Hair is literally an antenna. Our hair can sense when something isn’t safe before our brains have even realized a threat is present. Our hair signals us when our senses are alive without us having to do anything. Imagine walking into a freakin Taylor Swift concert. I can bet all of your hair would stand up straight on your body from all that excited energy. Or when someone caresses your scalp, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. We don’t have to press any buttons; we don’t even have to be consciously aware of the process. It just happens as nature intends.

At the end of this thought, I was presented with a question. “If the hair on our heads, arms, and neck are signals, what about the hair on our legs, in our pubic area, and under our arms? What does it do? And why is it mostly women who shave these areas?” This is what my research showed me:

Pubic hair

Primary functions:

• Protection & friction reduction
  It cushions sensitive skin and reduces friction during walking and sex.

• Microbiome regulation
  It helps maintain a stable environment around genitals.

• Scent signaling (very important)
  Pubic hair traps and disperses pheromones produced by apocrine sweat glands. This is a subconscious sexual and social signal.

This is why pubic hair typically appears at puberty, not before—it’s directly tied to sexual maturity.
And this is when many women start shaving. At one of the most critical times to keep it there.

Underarm hair

Primary functions:

• Amplifies chemical communication
  Like pubic hair, underarm hair holds scent molecules tied to identity, compatibility, and attraction.

• Thermoregulation & sweat evaporation

• Boundary signaling
  Axillary scent helps others unconsciously read things like familiarity, safety, or genetic compatibility.

Leg hair

Leg hair is less about pheromones and more about:

• Environmental sensing
  It increases sensitivity to movement, insects, temperature, and air flow.

• Protection & thermoregulation

• Evolutionary remnant
  Humans once had far more body hair; leg hair is a reduced version of that original system.

Pubic and underarm hair does cause a signal similar to the neck and arms, but it’s a more subtle one. It’s about chemical and energetic signaling. It operates mostly below conscious awareness. Think of it less as “danger alert” and more as “identity broadcast”.

The removal of body hair on women started in the 1900’s. It became a fad due to advertising and the rise of sleeveless dresses. Before that, female body hair was normal and largely not talked about.

Let’s go deeper here.

Hair = maturity, autonomy, sexuality
Hairlessness = youth, softness, control, non-threat

Societies that benefit from controlling women tend to infantilize them, desexualize them on their own terms, and sexualize them only through external approval. Removing hair mutes natural scent signals, reduces visible markers of sexual maturity, and makes the body appear more “manageable” or “clean.” Men are allowed, and often encouraged to keep hair because it signals strength, dominance, and maturity.

Hair is part of the sensory boundary of the body. It increases feedback from the environment, it participates in identity signaling, and it subtly affects how safe, attractive, or “seen” we feel. When women remove body hair, there is often a felt sense of cleanliness or social safety, but at the cost of losing their instinctual presence.

I realized after learning all of this that body hair sits at the intersection of biology, sexuality, autonomy, and cultural control. Especially towards women.

After I educated myself on this, I thought it was a no-brainer. Stop shaving. Listen to the signals of my body, while also spending less money on shaving supplies, with no razor burn, all while regulating my nervous system. Win-win-win.

But here’s the thing, you don’t know how to prepare for - The shame. I never realized how much shame I had wrapped up in shaving. I used to keep myself clean-shaven nearly all the time. There were some winters where I would maybe go a week, two, max, without shaving, but after that I felt “dirty” and “unkept.”

When I quit shaving, I was forced to accept myself on a deeper level than I ever had before.

And I know, some of you may think, “What’s the big deal? Who cares?” Well, I did. I’m not one of those people who can easily say, “Fuck it, I’m living my life.” I was conditioned since nine-years-old. That’s a long time to be in the same habit and thoughtform.

The truth is, I’m no more “dirty” unshaved than I was shaved. The only thing about my shower routine that changed was the shaving. I was actually relieved to skip that step. It always hurt, and yes, the smooth legs were ah-mazing after the shower, but that smooth feel only lasted for what, maybe two hours? Then the stubble was back. Hair is meant to GROW. It’s kind of like grass. The more you mow, the thicker it becomes. It wants to live. It’s here to protect the ground it’s growing from. And news flash, you ARE nature. As much as we love to disregard that, it’s the ultimate truth.

Quitting the razor has helped me feel more connected with nature and myself. I’ve learned to disregard what people think or say, and honestly, I’ve never once received a comment about my “hairy” legs or underarms. No one gives a shit except me. Everyone is busy living their own lives. They aren’t worried about your pit hair. And if they are, doesn’t that tell you a whole lot about them?

I’m not here to say, “stop shaving!” Everyone has a choice at the end of the day, but I know I wasn’t educated when I made the choice to start shaving, and I still wasn’t educated until almost 30 years later, when I crashed and started studying the nervous system and the link to body hair specifically. It’s not something we ever talk about, and it should be.

There should be clear education around these cultural habits that affect us and our nervous systems. Young girls should be taught the importance of their body hair, and should not be socially pressured into doing something their brains haven’t developed the capacity to understand. If women’s bodies are going to continue to be advertised and marketed, those pictures should include the whole woman, in all of her glory.

But unfortunately, that stuff doesn’t sell. Could you imagine the hysteria that would ensue if Victoria’s Secret models garnered a full bush hanging out the side of their thongs? Butt hair included. This is how sick our society has become. Even women mark baby-smooth skin as attractive. When we know now the people in power, who control the media, advertise their own fetishes of young children through the bodies of grown women, such as Victoria’s Secret models. Slim, hairless, and silky smooth skin. And we’ve fallen for it. Not only have we fallen for it, but most women, when I mention I stopped shaving, reply, “Oh my gosh, I could never. I would feel SO uncomfortable.”

Is razor burn comfortable? Is the feeling of tight pants on clean-shaven legs comfortable? Is stubble comfortable? Are ingrown hairs comfortable? Is the burning sensation you have when you put lotion on comfortable? Is friction comfortable?? No.

What’s comfortable is conformity. Going against the grain (see what I did there) is hella uncomfortable. No matter what tools you use. No matter what pep talks you’ve given yourself. Doing something different than the larger majority is uncomfortable. But it’s the way nature intended. Nature designed us all very intentionally, and we keep thinking we know more than nature, and we should control it or destroy it. Each time we shave, we are sending a signal to our legs, pubic area, and underarms (and whatever else you shave) that there is something to be ashamed of. Why else would we eliminate such an integral part of our body?

Our culture has made us ashamed of our bodies and our body hair. That shame lives within our cells. It travels from our consciousness deep into the hidden parts of our bodies every single time we destroy what is natural about ourselves. It’s not worth it to me.

The longer I go without shaving, the less shame I feel, and the more comfortable I feel in my own skin. It’s been a year, and I’m still working through all those years of shame, but each day I embrace the hair, I’m rewarded with a newfound confidence I never thought would exist because of getting rid of the razor. My nervous system is more regulated, I can concentrate again, and the fog is lifting naturally. I’d like to thank my body hair for supporting me in that success.