Growing older made me much more comfortable in my body. Months ago, I wrote in my journal an analogy about growing into my own using my hair. I keep saying I need to type it out. Otherwise try to make it into something is isn't. When I entered my thirties, I let my hair be what it was meant to be. It is more than half grey. I do dye it, but I no longer spent hours and a small fortune putting blond highlights in it. I no longer try to fry it into straight submission. Here is a picture of my sister and I on her thirtieth birthday. That hair took forever, lots of product, and a flatiron to achieve.
My hair has always been a great feature. Much like the rest of me, when I stopped trying to make it something it wasn't, it flourished. It is healthier than it's even been. It is easier than it's even been and found its own way of doing things.
Here's my hair over the winter.
Not glamorous. Simple. Content. Me.
One of my favorite things about me is my hair. It is as telling as a journal. I just looked to see if I had any of my big hair middle school pictures of half buzzed pictures from high school. Luckily for everyone, I don't.
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