Yesterday, as I was piously sitting in church, totally not planning out other blogs that I want to start, I had an epiphany. Maybe it wasn’t an epiphany, it was kind of a realigning? of what I want to do with my life. The thing that makes me the most happy is writing. That’s how it’s always been. I can write about anything and thoroughly enjoy it. I pulled out my phone and started making notes about things I wanted to write about on both this blog and the mysterious soon-to-be blog. (Don’t judge me, it was near the end of service!) When service let out, I was walking out of the sanctuary and as usual, I was in my own little world not really thinking about anything except blogging.
“You have really pretty hair! Gosh, it’s gorgeous!” someone said, pulling me out of my thoughts. I managed a “Oh, you’re so sweet, thank you!” before she walked away.
Now, I’m gonna be real honest right now. I hadn’t washed my hair in at least 3 days. I barely managed to get it brushed before I had to leave the house. My hair has been a mess for God knows how long. I don’t like it. I don’t like the color, I don’t like the length, I don’t like the texture. I do. not. like. my. hair. I’ve basically accepted that it’s going to look like shit until I either pixie cut it again or let it get longer. I don’t love it curly, I don’t love it straight… I’m just not happy with my hair.
I can make it look okay enough for it to look like I’ve at least tried to put myself together. Sunday was NOT one of those days. This lady that doesn’t know, took the time to tell me I had pretty hair and it kind of made me realize that maybe… just MAYBE the things that I’m insecure about are completely ridiculous. Not everyone is going to notice that your hair isn’t perfect. Just because *I* feel like blonde hair washes me out, doesn’t mean that everyone else does. I mean, just look at the caption on that instagram photo. “Sometimes I’m pretty.” I remember posting that and thinking wow I look pretty in that picture. *captioned* I actually got accused of “fishing for compliments” on that picture. Like, let’s be real. I don’t really care if someone ELSE thinks I’m pretty. As long as I *FEEL* pretty, then I’m happy. I don’t need people to tell me I’m pretty — but like anyone else, it’s nice to be told by other people that I am pretty. I spent years in emotionally abusive relationships where I never felt good enough or pretty enough and if a stranger did happen to pay me a compliment, I was immediately shamed into thinking that they didn’t mean it. I think it just kind of took me by surprise that on that day, of all days, when I hadn’t really tried to be pretty or put together that someone said I had pretty hair. I don’t think that people realize how long words can have an impact on your psyche. It turns out that years later, I’m still struggling even on my good days.
I don’t really have a question for you guys. This was just a post that had been floating around in my head all day and I finally had a minute to sit down and write it out. I’ll gladly accept thoughts/comments/questions in the comments below!