#37 - A Haircut

Yesterday, I broke down and finally got a professional haircut. For the past several months, I've been cutting my own hair and doing a bad job of it. My daughters roll their eyes at me as I watch do-it-yourself-hair-cutting videos on-line. They refuse to be a part of my effort. I even bought a nice pair of scissors from "Sally's" that are strictly for cutting hair. But, even with all of the best tools, I stink at cutting hair, especially my own.

For the past couple of years, I've completely rebelled against any kind of hair color or highlights. Going all natural was my focus. But, as the years have passed, my hair grew to a wild state and the grey became starkly visible. On day last month, my husband and I were shopping at Sam's and I went to the bathroom. Before leaving the bathroom, I walked to the basin to wash my hands and when I looked up into the mirror with the harsh, bright fluorescent lighting overhead, I stood there frozen and in shock. Was that me looking back? My hair wasn't only grey, there were bright white lines running all throughout my head of brunette hair. Alien strands were taking over! I had envisioned myself with this graceful, elegant flowing white hair one day, but the look that was staring back at me was definitely NOT part of my mental picture.

When I walked out of the bathroom, I went back to shopping with my husband and he knew something was wrong. He kept asking and I kept blowing it off. Finally, I confided that my reflection had shocked me. He hugged me and told me that he loved my grey hair, and that he loved my natural beauty. Very sweet, but it didn't erase the image burned in my mind. I wasn't ready to see myself looking quite that bedraggled.

Later that week, my daughter and I were in the lobby of a local hospital waiting for copies of my medical records. She was chatting away on her IPhone with a soldier calling via satelite that she supports in Iraq; she was getting the latest list for his basic needs...writing paper, envelopes, stamps, dry soup mixes, hot chocolate...she was repeating his list back to him as she walked over to where I sat nearby. She began to run her fingers through my hair, a normal thing for her to do when she's on edge. Her eyes grew wide and she said, "I am standing here looking at my mom's hair and she's suddenly got a ton of white hair out of no where." She began laughing and she and her soldier friend began to talk about loved ones with grey hair, then she suddenly burst out with a laugh, "No, she's only 42!" Obviously, he thought I was NOT in my 40's.

Maybe the "old momma" is expected to have a head topped with completely grey hair. However, I kept hearing her words, "She's ONLY 42!" and I realized that she was right! I didn't need to completely succumb to the naturalness of my condition. There is a remedy and it's called HAIR COLOR! In addition, I didn't need to be so controlling as to think that I could be my own hair-dresser! I could let my old friend, Sonia, do her magic and her job and I could be set free from my cursed pair of Sally's scissors.

So, last evening, I spent three hours with Sonia in her private, ritzy salon. She knew this was a big step for me. Most often, I go see her after I've had my own chop sessions with my hair, so none of this is a surprise to her. She always manages to fix my self-induced disasters. She went over a few color swatches with me and decided that just a slight adjustment was needed - she left much of my grey natural hair color in the mix, but she blended the color throughout to soften the harshness of my aging changes. As for my aging changes...I do think that the burst of white on my head is also due to the medical traumas I have endured. The difficulties with my health seemed to have acted as fertilizer to the white strands. I was ready to not be reminded of this each time I looked in a mirror.

After her scissors flew into action, I looked into the mirror and felt a huge wave of relief. THIS woman looking back at me was a better reflection of who I felt to be on the inside!! She just needed some help to be revealed.

Through my near 25 years of being married, my husband has seen me with every hair color imaginable. We've joked that he's been with a brunette, a blonde, a red-head, a jet-black, a grey, an orange, and even pink-haired woman. It's a good thing that he is as adventurous as I am. He loves me as I am, no matter the hair color. After all these years together, he really sees ME, not the PARTS of me. When I walked in the door, he gave me a huge smile and he then jokingly searched for some grey strands and I told him, "There still in there with the rest of me."

My Husband & My Precious Niece