I must be wise beyond my years (or at least that’s what I’m telling myself) because the amount of gray hair that has been surfacing itself on my scalp is appalling. Everyday I find new little stragglers that make their way to be seen along my hairline. Let me just remind you of the reason that this is freaking… me… out… I’M ONLY TWENTY!
According to Web MD (hypochondria is real), I have “premature graying” of my hair (thanks, Daddy). The listed solutions (directly quoted) are:
- Hide the gray
- Embrace the gray
Translation: there is absolutely no solution for the predicament that I’m currently in. So naturally (as natural as these grays) when I don’t know what to do, I do nothing. So here I sit, just letting my entire youth spiral into the abyss as far too many unwanted gray strands of keratin make their way through my follicles and into my personal (t)h(r)ead count. I apologize for the dramatization, but I want to make sure that we understand the seriousness and life-threatening nature of this issue. Ultimate literal travesty.
[insert devastation here]
Seriously, though, all exaggerated travesties aside: I am graying. And as much as I would like to say that it doesn’t bother me, that it doesn’t make me self-conscious and that it doesn’t stress me out (probably causing even more gray guys), it does. Do I think that my value lies in my hair? No, absolutely not. In fact, our hair is usually something that we don’t think too much about. It’s there everyday (unless you’re losing it, sorry Ry), and we don’t put much thought into its presence (besides the occasional up-do). But if I woke up bald one morning, would I see myself as beautiful? Would I still feel feminine? I would hope so, but I can’t make any promises. And I would love to be able to accept myself and my body for all of it’s weird (and sometimes annoying) habits and functions, but it’s really, really hard. But that doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth striving for.
I would love to be a 35-year-old with some salt and pepper patches who proudly decides not to color her hair . Or to be 50 and completely gray and not think twice about whether or not my lack of hair pigmentation affects my worth and beauty. But we don’t live in a world that allows us to do that; we don’t live in a place that lets us release our inhibitions (#throwback to Natasha Bedingfield). But we need to. We need to make efforts to be okay with who we are, exactly how we are. We need to embrace our imperfections and love the little quirks that make us different–the pieces (or strands) of you that make you, you. I am who I was created to be, gray hair and all. And it’s about time I realize that who I’ve become has been purposeful; I am intentional. Right down to the last little, gray hair that’s peeking its way through my epidermis.
two g(r)ay hairs walk into a bar
one asks: what’s the worst thing you’ve ever been through?
the other replies: the straightener
In better news: I almost spilled both coffee and tomato juice (obviously, on separate occasions) on my white pants today. Key word: almost. I think they call that good karma? And yes, I’m wearing white pants after Labor Day. #sueme
But Wednesdays are always laborious, so that’s basically the same thing, right? Now we’re just splitting (gray) hairs…
Personal confession (in the spirit of Lent and all): I have seen 50 Shades of Grey, and I’m still not sure why it has the title that it does. I’m about 100% confident that my head has more shades of Grey than the movie. But maybe you “had to read the book” to understand. However, I’m remaining optimistic as I (don’t) hold my breath for the next two movies. Oh the anticipation…
Keep doing you, even if it means dying your strands to give you a little extra confidence. Just know that without the bleach, you’re just as beautiful.