Slipper Slope of Self Esteem and Contol
My entire life I thought when I’d hear a celebrity or older woman say, “I embrace aging’, I thought it was there way of trying o make themselves feel good about being old.
The truth is, at least to me, aging isn’t a walk in the park, but the ‘old’ factor doesn’t bother me as much as some that I know. Embracing doesn’t mean shouting from the highest hill, “I LOVE BEING OLD’, embracing means, “Okay, I got this, what can I do?”
It’s different for a woman. Men, they generally still look good, and we do too, but only we as women will acknowledge to each other that we look good. Make sense.
But why? Why do we have to look good, or young? Why do we have to watch our waist lines to keep them small when as we age, most of us watch out waistlines grow?
I have kept my hair long my entire life. Only having it short … twice. It’s so weird how hair determines our self esteem. Longer is youthful, blonde is fun ….that sort of stuff. Sadly, if you wear long hair your entire life, people equate that to your beauty factor. If we cut it, we are made to no longer feel beautiful.
I cut my hair.
I cut it all the way off, short and pixie.
People ask why.
I never saw myself as beautiful on the outside, I just never did. That’s not a fish for compliments, that’s just a fact.
Granted, for the longest time I said I never would cut my hair until I had to. But this past year, it seemed every time I went to the hairdresser, a part of me just wanted to cut it off. I didn’t, and I also didn’t know why I felt so strongly about it. I mean right before I cut it, I was truly trying to search for the reason why…. Why was I so obsessed with it. It went beyond the simple desire for a change in hair or easier style.
It took for the cut for me to know why.
I felt liberated and free and bold. Suddenly I didn’t feel as if I were hiding behind anything. This is who I am, take it or leave it.
It was then I realized my hair was a symbolization of my life in the past year.
To give you the short cliff note version. But I’m going to be deep and honest. A year ago, my mom passed away. It was relatively fast, and I still don’t believe it was her time. Decisions were made in ‘her best interest’ and ‘it would be what she wanted’, but my argument was, she was so heavily sedated, was it fair to make a call without allowing her to say, ‘yes, I want to live like that’ or ‘no, I’d rather die.’. In short, that day, I didn’t just lose my mom, I lost my siblings. Again, another call I didn’t make. Years before I didn’t abandon a brother who had a marital affair, I didn’t agree with what he did, but I would never turn my back on him. Because of that, I was considered ‘bad and evil’, by my siblings. Not my mom. My mother’s passing gave them the excuse to rid their lives of me and all that I was. The black sheep, creative one, and evil one. Not only that, they disowned my children and grandchildren.
For a year I tried to deal with it, and if we’re being honest, I still am. Every once and a while the one sister pops on Facebook to make a snide comment to something nice I posted.
But on the anniversary of my mom’s death, I became obsessed with the hair cutting.
Like my life, my hair was out of control. Like my life, it took effort to make it look good. And like my life, I’d pull it back and hide the bad.
Cutting it off … no more to hide. I was liberated of all that held me back. My hair is simple, like I want my life to be.
It doesn’t take effort to enjoy, like enjoying life shouldn’t take much effort.
I have a big, huge family. 4 kids, sons/daughter in laws, and eight grandkids.
Letting go of my long bad hair that I held on to was my beginning of letting go all the other bad I held on to.
The first non family member to see my short hair said to me, “I liked you better with long hair.”
He liked me better with long hair? Granted, he could have misspoke, but it still pissed me off.
Normally, I would seen myself feeling bad, doubting myself and how I looked. I mean, come on, it’s hard enough begin older and embracing you don’t always look attractive. Instead of feeling down, I got angry and firmly said to him. “You know what? I don’t care. It doesn’t matter what you think about my hair, I like it.”
I like the change and what it stands for. If someone else doesn’t … too bad.
Baby steps to control.