A Hairy Situation

I have an unnatural fear of beauticians. This most likely stems from my need to keep a physical distance from strangers. I even tried in vain to avoid Grandma hugs as a kid. I have a radius of about two feet of comfort zone. Cutting my hair definitely breeches these boundaries; yet another unfortunate side effect of being an introverted extrovert. This ridiculous paranoia drives me to avoid necessary trims until my split-ends turn into a bird's nest, complete with chirping birds. By that point, I'm too ashamed to let a beautician attempt to comb and cut through the mess. I was lucky in college to have a dear friend in beauty school who cut my hair. I'm not such a creep if I know the person wielding scissors dangerously close to my head. Now we live in different states. So here I sit; trying to force myself to let a stranger attempt to tame my unruly mane. My hair is getting so long, I feel like Rapunzel. Once your hair gets to a certain length, it's ok to trim it yourself, right?