Finally, after months of not feeling much like writing, the drought is over. I cannot explain it, but there’s just something about uncomfortable economy plane seats that get my writer juices flowing. Seems since COVID brought our world to its knees it took me and my writing down with it as well.
Remember back when businesses shuttered one by one, airports were ghost towns, countries closed borders, schools went virtual, special occasions postponed and life inside your front door became your whole world? Computers and video calls for many became our only connection with the outside world. I remember it well because that’s when my own hibernation began.
Inside my cave I mastered the art of sourdough bread and refurbishing furniture. I watched and worried alongside the entire world about rising infection rates, the health and safety of loved ones and the progress of a vaccine. I fretted over the lack of Clorox wipes and toilet paper. I worried about accommodating four people all working from our home. But in addition to those seemingly reasonable concerns, I was shamefully worried about how I looked. There, I’ve said it.
It wasn’t the “Covid 20” I gained from no open gym coupled with eating all my sourdough bread—it was my closed hair salon. You see, pre-COVID I mindlessly colored my gray hair every three to four weeks. So, as the pandemic grew so too did my gray roots. It was a massively humbling time for me because I realized what others thought of my appearance mattered to me—a lot. My gray roots robbed me of my ability to make direct eye contact and I became a shadow of my people person self. I’m no Albert Einstein, but the correlation between my increasing grays and my decreasing self-esteem was blatantly obvious.
Typically, my life is a constant balancing act of people visiting, social events and football. Never would there have been a long enough swath of time to even contemplate committing to growing out my gray roots. So, there was never even a moment I considered stopping. But then on a silver platter I was handed the perfect opportunity to stay at home with no end in sight—enter the COVID QUARANTINE! Hibernation became my excuse to stay in a safe, comfortable and judgment-free space. Except for the moments I passed a mirror and hurled a look of utter disgust and bewilderment at myself. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.
A few months into my hibernation, Mother’s Day was around the corner and that meant so were pictures. I wasn't at all comfortable with my gray hair, yet there was something about those stark gray roots growing that were oddly empowering. I was so fortunate to have had a core crew of super supportive people, but the vast majority were visibly stunned by my Cruella DeVille hairdo. I fell victim to my negative self-talk and colored my roots again.
The moment the hair color was slathered on I knew I’d made a dreadful mistake. I watched the brown colors wash down the sink drain and felt my disappointment rise—wishing I had believed in myself more. I looked into the mirror and actually missed that hard earned inch of gray growth I had so fiercely disliked. So I again began the waiting game of days, weeks and months until it turned into a year and a half.
Oh, and somewhere in the midst of this my hair stylist and friend helped blend my roots to my ends! #priceless
I am proud to say I came out of hibernation a changed person. It’s not just the silver hair, yeah that’s what we gray folk call it. But there is an essence of bravery about me now. I am stronger and more confident because I taught myself to be less concerned about what others think and focus more on what I think and feel. I base decisions on what I want, like and need now. Not all the time of course, but more than not and that's good enough for me! I even smile now when I pass a mirror these days and sometimes even slap myself a high five!
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Looking back now, I view this whole experience as a gift of sorts, the perfect storm if you will. Shuttered down hair salons and mandatory quarantine for months on end was the perfect time for me to choose to go silver. I’m not saying it was easy or it’s a choice for everyone, but it was indeed my right choice.
Moral: To be secure about things that make you insecure is securing.
your brave silver-haired friend,
A little reminder for you from me: I am fully aware this challenge of mine pales in comparison to the troubles of others. I by no means am saying woe is me or trying to diminish the troubles of others. I am just continuing to share my view on my everyday life. Take it or leave it—but please do not be offended by it.