On Feb. 14, I crossed the equator on my trip around the world and celebrated Neptune Day. It was also the day that I lost all my hair but gained a better understanding of myself.

Neptune Day is a nautical tradition celebrated by pollywogs, or sailors who are crossing the equator for the first time. To pay homage to King Neptune, pollywogs participate in ceremonies to mark their transition from "worthless pollywogs" to "trusty shellbacks." This transformation is marked by being doused in fish guts, kissing a fish, and shaving your head.

I celebrated Neptune Day with 700 other college students on Semester at Sea, a study-abroad program that infuses education with travel and cultural awareness.

So, somewhere on the Atlantic Ocean, between stops in Brazil and South Africa, I cut off my nine-inch ponytail and let someone rev a razor near my head.

Most people don't understand why a 19-year-old girl would want to be bald. I had a hard time offering a good reason at first. But now, almost seven months later - and with four inches of hair back - I can offer an answer.

I didn't shave my head to be rebellious. I didn't do it for attention. I didn't do it for a new look. I didn't do it because Natalie Portman did it.

I did it for myself. And I did it to donate my hair to create a wig for women who have lost their hair from cancer treatment.

Not everyone can relate to stories about traveling the world. But everyone can relate to the desire to feel beautiful. And in today's society, beauty is too often stereotyped. Standards of beauty are imposed on women, and we alter our appearances and features to fit the mold.

So while circumnavigating the globe, I stopped trying to fit the mold. It was liberating to look in the mirror and see myself so clearly. I packed away my insecurities alongside the hair dryer, hair straightener and hair products. For the first time, I was learning to love myself without trying to change myself.

This transformation and growth was fueled by my travels. As I made my way around the world, I continued to learn more about what it means to be beautiful. At the Mother Theresa Orphanage in India, I sat on a dirty floor with children dying of malnutrition and realized how warped our culture of thinness is. In Vietnam, women did not lather on suntan oil or flock to tanning salons. Instead, they covered themselves to maintain their pure white skin.

In each of the 12 countries I visited, my ideas of beauty were altered. I started to grow, and so did my hair.

During this journey, I basked in the African sun, stood in the shadows of the Taj Mahal, explored the jungles of Malaysia, and climbed the Great Wall of China. But the greatest memory I carry with me is of the day I shaved my head and learned to love myself.