I will always be perplexed as to why hair is so deeply tied to our identity. I also wonder why haircuts, new coloring, or any significant change throws me back to Junior High. I am my body. I am more than my body. But my hair sometimes seems more than me.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and as much as I tried to focus on the conversation with the woman getting her hair cut next to me, I realized I actually needed to name the trauma I was experiencing. I was two hours into the process and noticed two texts from my husband wanting to know where I was.
What should I reply? Something like, “Hey, I will be home in another hour.” Or, “It’s taking longer than I thought.” But instead of texting my husband, I looked at Shawn in the mirror and said, “I think I am going to have to go home and have a glass of wine!” I kept looking at my reflection, and even though my hair was still wet, it looked blue. Next thing I knew there was a lovely tumbler of red wine in front of me. It never occurred to me that this salon would even have wine! If there was any time to drink at a hair salon, this was it. It wasn’t yet noon and I could barely breathe. I gratefully took a sip.
Another hour went by and I began the drive home while taking sneak peeks at the top of my hair in the rear view mirror. Thankfully, that looked the same, but truly, whenever I looked at the ends of my hair I had to admit that it was a bit blue!
One thing age has allowed me to realize is that most people don’t even see change, let alone say anything.
My daughter-in-law and husband were appropriately shocked when I walked into the house. I looked in the hallway mirror and I did have blue hair! Elizabeth assured me the products that I was sent home with would do the very thing I hoped it would do, help tone down the blue. But, I wasn’t supposed to wash my hair for a week. Seriously, what had I done!
I sneaked away and called Jane from my closet chair. “Guess what? I dyed the yellow ends of my hair. I have gray hair, Jane.” Without a missed beat, she replied non- chalantly, “Well, Beck, if you don’t really like it, you can dye it back.” Truth. I love the truth from Jane. That’s right. I can. In my mind I saw dollar signs and failure.
A few hours later I stiffly said to Dan, ”I am freaking out with this blue hair!” He looked at me and said, “Becky, you cannot continue this when we are with our family. (Tomorrow our entire family was gathering at Finn River to celebrate our three August birthdays.) He was right. I went to bed with my blue-ish hair and slept really well.
One by one, everyone showed up for outdoor jazz listening, cider sipping in the heat of the summer near Port Gamble. Initially, no one noticed. In keeping with Dan’s true style, he loved saying, “Do you notice anything different about Becky?” I was extremely comforted by the fact no one did notice…at least, initially, And… yes, I did let them know I knew there was indeed “a bit of blue goin’ on.”
I went to my yoga studio. No one noticed. I went sailing with good friends and piled my hair dutifully on top of my head when we went swimming in the deep waters of The Gulf Islands. Hilarity is so much better than shame. And truly, who cares about anything while sailing with friends in some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen?
Now the blue truly is gone. The hope of blending the ends with my roots has happened. And, it all seems wonderful. I love not having teenage long hair with an estrogen-free face. I have wrinkles and flabby skin. My skin is not at all like it used to be. I am at peace with that. I am more at peace with me than ever before. I am less inclined to wear make-up than ever before. It just doesn’t matter. Truly. I am more at peace with my failings. I am more aware of joy than ever. And, I am thrilled to be alive in this #MeToo era. There’s much ground to take back. And as far as I can see, the road ahead is shorter than ever before and I want to enjoy every bit of joy there is to be had. The holiness of life and each life is becoming more stunning. I am grateful.
Becky Allender lives on Bainbridge Island with her loving, wild husband of almost 40 years. A mother and grandmother, she is quite fond of sunshine, yoga, Hawaiian quilting and creating 17th Century reproduction samplers. A community of praying women, loving Jesus, and the art of gratitude fill her life with goodness. She wonders what she got herself into with Red Tent Living!
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You are right, well said.
Thank you for your response!!!
Love your words AND your new hair, mom!! And don’t forget, I noticed it right away when I saw you guys at finn river & loved it instantly. Someday I hope I’ll be lucky enough to follow in your footprints in the hairdressers chair and think of you!
Ah, thank you Annie. I consider myself lucky to have your approval in many ways. And…I still think you didn’t notice immediately…of course we were in a tribe of six as we arrived!
Peace is a high commodity… it’s a tremendous gift!! Age can walk us into more and more peace if we sit … sip … and embrace! Thanks for being vulnerable!!!
Thank you Ro! I never had wine at a hair appointment! What unexpected calmness arrived with it. Peace and joy….that’s what I hope can be grown in my being as I age…
Becky, I just LOVE how you have been walking into more and more freedom, strength, joy, and peace! You go, woman!!
Ah, thank you. I tend to see my spinning and worry and I do want to embrace more freedom, strength, joy and peace!
Reminds me of the Velveteen Rabbit. The more loved he was, and the more time that went by, the more real he became. Your writing is so thought provoking and fun to read. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you so much Barbara!!
Well I love your new hair and I think this is so important and so true. When I got sick I cut my butt-length hair to my shoulders because I couldn’t cope with it. After I was sick it began to change color and so I hennaed it with indigo and henna. I think having some control over what we cannot control and it seems to be hair is a big part of that if like you, you were known for your hair, then it’s so understandable that this will be a bitter sweet experience and you can triumph from it by reclaiming yourself. Excellent write.
Thank you for your words. Wow…butt-length hair. How stunning. And I think I only had that once and cut it chin length….which I liked for about a week. I am curious who you are “the feathered sleep”…. how did you know I was known for my hair? I do love your words…”you can triumph from it be reclaiming yourself.” Much to reclaim as more kindness to myself unfolds….
Becky, you coukd have blue, red, green or pink hair and you would still be stunning. Thank you as always for your raw and beautiful honesty. Your writing always brings me face to face with my own feelings and calls me to deeper love and kindness toward myself especially as it relates to my age and my beauty. Thank you, thank you and may that peace you are feeling just grow and grow…. just like our hair does!!
Laurie, thank you. “Face to face with your own feelings”… Nothing better than that. May you be kinder to yourself in every way. I think that is the keep to joy.
Becky, this is lovely! What a beautiful entry. I noticed a picture recently, it must have been around this time, and I remember thinking how stunning your hair looked. Just beautiful…I think the acceptance and peace is the true beauty here. Can’t wait to hug you soon!
Bethany…I am looking forward to hugging you soon too. I think of you often and wonder if I would be the magnificent mother that you are if I had had similar hurdles. I think you are amazing.
As I read your experience in the salon chair, my chest tightened and my stomach seized; the fear of judgment raged and I identified (in my heart) the spiral that can so quickly overtake all my sensibilities. I love the ending paragraph of this piece. It highlights so radiantly the unveiling of your discovered and embraced beauty. Thank you for teaching me, more and more, how to walk with wonder into the inevitable changes. Love to you. Christine
Christine…I believe you are the teacher who imparts wisdom to me. I hope I see you in Austin!!!
“I will always be perplexed as to why hair is so deeply tied to our identity.” I totally agree, and with those words I was hooked, thinking you were writing about the hair loss that accompanied my chemotherapy. Scarves became an unwanted part of my identity, and I wore them throughout chemo and as my hair slowly grew back, hating every minute of it. Yet I cried when I packed them up 10 years later for donation, knowing the struggles their future owners would have. Two months later, I needed the scarves back. But this time the new scarves were no longer a substantive part of my identity. No, they were echoes of sharing in Christ’s suffering, which is our true identity as Christians.