A New Angle

Today, as my 'do something for you' weekly activity, I'm sitting at a salon waiting on my turn in the chair to chop off my hair a bit. I truly despise this chore, and got away with my last haircut being by my mother in November (yes, it's May) and I desperately need some TLC to be paid to the coiff, since I can't be bothered to do it myself. So I'm flipping through magazines, blogging, and waiting my turn to try things from a new angle.

My biggest indecision? Bangs. I haven't had bangs since childhood. But aside from them being the new trend that other people are already over, I feel like they would add depth to my look. I'm still unsure even now, although I'm holding a picture of what I want in my hands, but it's not the hairstyle I'm iffy on. I've always been unsure of change.

Thinking about changes takes me back in time seven years to the week before our wedding, when I spent time packing for the first time in my life. I was picking and choosing what was going to come with me to the apartment I was going to share with Squee. I was holding on so tight to such fragile, insignificant things, and took most of them with me. Over the last seven years, many of the things I once saw as vital and important have been scattered or lost, some sold at yard sales and some given away. I've learned to hold on to the things that matter instead. What matters to me is my family, my friends and my faith, and all other things I can let go of, because what matters gives me strength. So, now it's my turn to swivel around in that shiny chrome seat and give a new 'do a whirl. And here I go, without fear.

We chat for a moment about my ideas for a cut, I do the customary showing a picture for a vague description, and the master's scissors start flying. The next thing I know, she has carved this lovely shape into my poofy, frizzy hair. She went so far as to style it a bit to clean up my look, a gift from one mom to another, as we chatted about Memorial Day plans. I got to share that it's our 7year anniversary on the holiday, which she found delightful. But when she was done, it wasn't quite what I wanted.

Now, this is usually where the Quiet PTSD would typically take over, the timid side of me that wouldn't raise a fuss would rise up and I'd bite my tongue and grouse about it later. But no, not this time. I like this stylist enough that I can't hold something against her that isn't her fault. If I walk out this door disliking my haircut, it is no one's fault but my own. So, I swallowed past a lump in my throat and said, politely,

  "Can we go just a little bit shorter on the bangs?"

Sweetest stylist I've had since I worked at a Great Clips, she trimmed them up little by little until she got the perfect length, that "just right" look that I immediately fell in love with. I loved the way it made me feel when I saw myself in the mirror, and that's been hard to come by lately. I feel like somehow, I'm becoming the woman, the wife, and the mom I'm supposed to he, and now I'm making the outer shell resemble the soul inside. It's going to be a long journey, but it will be worth it.