Hair – Part III The Finale

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2012. Shawn’s brain cancer diagnosis. The beginning of a 17 month journey where I was the primary caregiver. This process showed me how stress affects the body, and my hair began falling out in shocking amounts. I literally hated the thought of washing my hair because of how much I would see in the bottom of the shower.

2013. My hair needed some attention. In relocating from CA to TX, I had lost my trusted hairstylist. I had also forgotten about the humidity and heat. I needed it shorter and shaped up. There is nothing wrong with Super Cuts, or Great Clips, but due to a couple bad cuts, I don’t go to those shops. Ulta. Seriously, who can go wrong getting a cut from a stylist at Ulta?


The stylist cut my hair on a side part, and not the middle part as I had instructed. After the cut, I asked her to fix it, as it was going to cause me to have issues creating the homeless look. She fixed it alright. She just decided to cut it all off. I had taken my glasses off, as I always do during a cut, if I am not wearing contacts. Suffice it to say, that I was experiencing a mixture of shock and horror when I put my glasses on and looked into the mirror. I had wanted shorter, but not this short.

2017. If found myself at a crossroad. I hate Texas weather. The humidity makes me homicidal. The status of my hair again lies in a slight state of flux, thanks to the sign of impending pre-menopause. I had gone from red, to more blonde. I was happy with my hair, but the summer of 2017 found me growing more and more exasperated. If I haven’t already mentioned it, I don’t own a curling iron, flat iron, and prefer a “no maintenance” hair style. The humidity was causing the need to have 5 to 6 anti-frizz products added after shampoo. This task was to keep it from blowing up to the size of a lion’s mane just walking out the door.

After thinking about it for several weeks, and listening to the pros and cons, I made the decision to cut my hair off this past Friday. Also, I had been growing out all color for the past four months, and on Saturday, the day after my drastic cut, I impulsively went red again.


I literally laid in bed Saturday night and asked myself, “What in the hell have you done?!”

As I sit here and write this, my hair is the most comfortable feeling it has been in years. It’s ugly because I have no idea what I am doing with it, and it’s just willy-nilly. No, not in a cute way. Although I am loving it in the privacy in my own home, society deems me to figure something out, and figure it out quickly. Preferably before work on Monday morning.

I am out of my league. I regret the color. I should have stayed true to my “going gray” process. I feel less attractive. I know. I am almost 49 years old, and here I am experiencing a chink in my self-esteem because of my hair. I am going to CA in two months, for the first time in 3 years, and here I am with hair that has me in a current state of regret.

This outpouring of my thoughts isn’t to gain compliments. I am putting it out there, because I can’t be the only woman who feels this way sometimes. I wish hair wasn’t such a big deal. I wish we lived in a world where the outside appearance is more important than the inside. I feel for the girls growing up under such pressure to look perfect.

I think I am going to grow it back out, and and am definitely letting my hair color be as it is. It’s beautiful gray & white. The growing out is going to be a very long, and mind-numbing process.

Also, a very wise friend informed me that I just came off my “grief month” of July, and I should not make any drastic decisions re my hair, (or body) EVER, in July, and possibly for a month before, or after. I looked back at my photos, and guess when was the last time I had my hair cut off short – July 2014. After which I met my current, and amazing hair stylist, Lexie. Lexie, who after reading my status included with Part I, immediately contacted me and asked me what was wrong, and did we need to do something to my hair.

Things are starting to look up.


Side note: Lexie is now aware of my grief month and will refuse any and all insane requests during the specified time. She also had me in her salon chair Monday morning at 9 am, armed with bleach & toner. I’m not red anymore.

Jamie Lee Curtis, as God as my witness, I will never feel fraudulent again!


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