I think I began going gray when I was in my early twenties. It didn’t bug me; I just plucked them out. Which is why, some would argue, the rest of my head quickly followed suit. I ended up spending time and money coloring my hair but in my thirties I was done with it all and let my hair be. Not too long ago I succumbed under maternal and friend-ernal pressure and began coloring again. And I still hated the process, the time, the money, the mohawk look as it grew out. Bleah!
So I decided to let it go back to gray. My husband did not care either way. And because my creative coaching class asked me to do some self-portraits, you can see what my hair looked like growing out. I’m including the milking goat photo because it’s fun to mess with certain people in my circle (heh heh).
And naturally there is one of me in the kitchen because that is where I spend a lot (a.lot.) of time.
And I’m including this one because with the flag and hammock in the background I thought it was a cool shot. And who else in their right mind would post pics of themselves with graying grow-out and no makeup whatsoever? You know you’ve got “authenticity” here! ha
I really struggled with what to do with my hair. I felt like I had to decide between (1) how I felt (hating the color process) and (2) how I looked. And how I looked, I gathered from all of my family and friends. What finally made me decide to recolor (and I suppose keep coloring for a while anyway) is that my ability to make small talk with complete strangers (hoping always to share the gospel) really took a dive.
I’m not sure why. Maybe I was exuding some sort of “I’m not sure about this” but instead of getting friendly banter I got mostly reservation. I began to feel like how I looked affected my ability to be taken seriously, like maybe I was some down and out gal who just let herself go and therefore shouldn’t be talked with. It was just really odd and two days ago the lady at the shoe store was the last straw. No chit chat, no talking about the weather, just “here’s your shoes lady and buh-bye”.
For better or worse, right or wrong, what I realized is that how I look makes a big difference in how people respond to me. Maybe someday I will earn the right by age or experience to wear beautiful shades of gray, but right now I am giving up my right to be my own in this and sitting under the experienced hands of a (natural, organic, you-could-eat-this-stuff) colorist so that I can be a part of Rome.
Now that I look like a normal person again, can we have a chat?