haircuts aren’t supposed to hurt

the inspiration photo

I have never felt nervous about a haircut before.  my hair has been every color, length, and style imaginable and I’ve always been able to pull it off.  i have a very talented stylist and she has a great canvas to work with (if I do say so myself).

today, driving into the salon, my heart was racing (which could be related to the fact that I’m weaning off my anti-anxiety medication, and/or the fight BFO and I got into yesterday, and/or the fact that I ate corn chips yesterday but either way… it raced).  I was nervous and that was new for me.

I sat there wondering what my nerves were all about while the peroxide lifted the color from my hair and burned the living snot out of my scalp… When meditative breathing wasn’t working to dull the pain anymore I attempted to distract myself by checking my email and found an email from 38 that ended with: “I hope your external transformation will be as full, happy, enlightened, satisfying and heart opening to you as was your internal transformation.” (I know, she’s great right?)

what i came in with…

…and then the nervousness was a bit clearer.  Oh!  That’s what I’m doing here…  this dramatic change I’m making to my outward appearance is another attempt to make the inside and the outside match.  I don’t look the way I feel lately and that hasn’t been sitting well with me.  I don’t know that I necessarily feel like a blonde pixie but it’s a starting point.  And it’s funny that the external transformation felt A LOT like the internal one: there was fear, doubt, anxiety, pain, hopefulness, excitement, drama (can’t live without that), etc. etc. etc, the main difference isn’t that I didn’t love myself through it as effectively as I have been the internal transformation.

Despite the fact that I adore my stylist and we have the most divine conversations about self love and feelings, The nervousness didn’t subside… it intensified as the next seven hours brought all sorts of yellow/orange/brassy colored hair surprises, really coarse fluffy mushroom headed surprises, and finally a (not surprise) great haircut, but by then all of my liquid eyeliner had melted off and I was too emotionally exhausted from staring at my own flabby, white calves for so long to appreciate it.

I left the salon feeling completely vulnerable. I mean, the 25% reduction in pharmaceutical anxiety support, baby daddy squabbles, and corn chips aside, I spent the whole day in a chair, feeling afraid, and telling myself nasty things about the reflection staring back at me. It was not the best care I’ve ever taken of myself.

And you know what? I’m still in it… I redid my makeup at home, styled the hair in a way that maximized my cuteness, posted pictures on facebook, got tons of positive feedback, and am now loving my hair, but my scalp and my heart are still quite raw. I don’t have a nice neat little way to wrap this up with a profound conclusion. I learned not to do that again (permit active self loathing), but that’s it!

now that is what i think i look like on the inside.

I guess that’s enough for now.

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