What would I know? I’m not one of those kinds of girls. Ahem. Not anymore, anyway.
I have always had waves and curls. I fought them for three full decades.
In the awesome eighties, I burned curls on top of my head just so I could tease them and make my hair as big as possible. It never worked well. My hair wanted to curl in other directions and is so thick that when I teased it, it would fall to the side or here…. there… anywhere but the place I wanted it to go, ya know? I used massive amounts of Aqua Net and checked/rechecked throughout the day, adding more hairspray as I thought I needed it. I hated my hair. I thought I had been like, cursed! Why couldn’t I make it look like Julie’s? She had totally awesome 80’s hair. In spite of standing beside her and trying to do what she did and use her hairspray (the same spray as mine, but it seemed it must be magical), my hair would not cooperate.
I bleached it. Dyed it. Bleached it. Dyed it. Cut it. Bleached it… and you get the picture. It hated me.
Over the last few years I have discovered that I hate spending time on my hair! I don’t want to spend an hour in front of the mirror, especially when I never come out satisfied with how I look.
The more I worked at fighting what I thought of as flaws, the more dissatisfied I was with my looks. But it wasn’t just my looks. It was my own perception of my SELF. I never thought I was good enough. I believed I needed to fix it. The more I tried to fix it, the worse it became. Why? Because I had convinced myself that nothing I did was going to fix the flaws.
You have probably guessed I have misled you with the title. This isn’t really about my hair. It is about my inability to change my unacceptable self.
I’ve learned that is impossible. It is the wrong challenge. So what is the right challenge?
Learning to accept myself.
I’m in my 40’s, and I am finally on that path.
Next week: What about that droopy eye?