I got my hair cut on Saturday. And just for the record--I'm not depressed, I'm not feeling fat, I'm not failing in my profession, I'm not unhappy, I'm not feeling trapped in a horrible marriage, I'm not a failure of a mother or any of the other things I associate with my short-haired years in my past. In fact, I'm happier than I have ever been. My marriage is phenomenal (I found the greatest man to ever walk the earth since Jesus!), my professional life is progressing quite nicely, and while I don't have the skinny-Minny runner's bod I used to have, I look pretty damn good for an almost-forty-year-old woman. I'm even feeling like I'm a better mom now than I've ever been.
There was a time when I swore I'd never have short hair again, just because the associations with former haircuts were so traumatic. The short hair became a symbol. I was a scared, miserable, inferior, stupid person then. I had no self-worth. None. There was a time when I even felt suicidal. I was too chicken to do it, but I thought about it quite a bit for a several-month period of time.
When my first marriage ended, I started growing my hair out. It grew. It grew and it grew and it grew. I began to associate my long hair with my happy, smart, confident self. Once again, my hair had become a symbol.
So what does it all mean? I suppose it might mean the symbols have lost their meaning because I'm absolutely content with my life. It might mean I have moved beyond silly things like the meaning of a hair style. It might mean that I got tired of using lots of shampoo and conditioner. Or it might mean I am trying to grow out the natural color of my hair, and the best way to do that is to cut off the dyed ends.
Yes, indeed, I'm embracing my grays! It takes guts, don't you think?