It was Mama. In the Bathroom. With the scissors.

This week on, I wrote about my haircut. Which was the result of an anxiety attack at the dinner table NBD. 

About a month ago, after a particularly challenging day/week/month, I got up in the middle of dinner, went to the bathroom, locked the door, and cut my hair off...

I had toyed with the idea of cutting my hair for months. Years, even, but every time I entertained the idea aloud, my kids were adamant that I COULD NOT CHANGE MY HAIR DON'T DO IT MOM PLEASE DON'T.

Don't change, Mom. This is how we like you.

Copy that.

It came up again, recently when I was trimming Revi's bangs and took the scissors to my own hair while everyone was getting ready for bed.


Everyone looked petrified.

"What? I'm not doing anything. I'm just... never mind."

And then, a few weeks back, as we were all sitting around the dinner table, everything went quiet. The kids were arguing and Hal's back was out and everyone was asking me for something at the same time and "Mama? Mama! MAMA! MAMAMAMMAMASNJADBMAMAMA...!" and I just. kind of. broke.

I kept hearing their little voices, begging me not to change and suddenly it was all I wanted to do. Not to devalue them, but to empower MYSELF.

Don't change, Mom. This is how we like you.

So I got up from the table, went into the bathroom, locked the door behind me and proceeded to CHANGE..

I cut my hair and lightened the load...

"Wow. You look. Different."
"Do you like it?"
"Uh... I guess?"
"Why did you cut your hair off?..."
It occurred to me that all these months/years of ALMOST changing my hair but not, was me being a shitty parent to myself. I always tell my kids to do what makes them happy. To wear their hair and their clothes and their mismatched shoes with pride... I want to listen to MY voice sometimes instead of just theirs. Because "Don't change, Mama," while understandable, cannot interfere with my own mantra, "It's okay to change, Self."

Because it is.

..."I cut my hair off because I wanted to. Because it's my hair and I wanted a change."

It was silent for a moment and then everyone shrugged.

"Oh. That's cool, Mom.

"I like it, Mama."

"Me, too."

And so that was that.

My hair was shorter. I was the same, but better because I listened to myself. Because I got up from the table without saying a word. Because I felt like I was choking and I did something about it. Because sometimes one must excuse herself and leave the room so that she can find some peace.

And cut her hair to pieces.
(You can read the whole post, here.)



Barnicles | 12:53 PM

Go mama go! Who says a change is as good as a rest, I think they might be right. I miss having blue hair but just got my hair in good quality so thinking of bleaching stripe.

Barny Xx