We all have a love/hate relationship with our hair. Here’s my story … (What’s yours?)
I grew up with a head full of curls. Big bouncy curls that operated as tangle magnets. Literally, everything and anything could make my curls tangle into one big unruly mess. (i.e., a gust of wind, a ponytail holder, a pencil, sleeping.) My Dad used to sit on the bed – I would sit on the floor beneath him – and he would use no-tangle spray trying to comb out curl by curl. For the record, he’s a pretty great Dad. This went on for years, and truth be told, sometimes, even well into being a grown-up myself, I wish my Dad would get the knots out for me.
So of course, like every other girl on the planet, I’ve dreamt of perfectly straight hair. You know the type: hair you just roll out of bed with, hair you can step out of a shower with and watch it air-dry to perfection. My sister has that kind of hair. Her hair is thick too. So jealous. I just have tons of fine curly-meets-wavy hair. (Oh yeah, somewhere around high school, my hair threw me for another loop and decided to turn-coat and become curly/wavy, I guess the big curls got tired of holding on and fell into big wavy things … thanks a lot, hair.) Today I over-use a hair iron like it’s going out of style.
I’m also a hair chicken. I’ve highlighted my hair a whopping one time in my whole life, I sat terrified in the stylist’s chair the entire time with the support of my perfect friend, Isabel, and I paid a pretty penny at a pricey salon (scared to do it any other way) for the faintest (nearly undetectable) highlights you’ve ever seen. That was years ago, so you can imagine, I’ve never had the courage to do it again.
And of course, I’ve had hair scares. Cancer can really shock you into the fear of losing your hair. It may sound petty, you are up against a much bigger battle, and yet you find yourself, in those weeks and months, running shaking fingers through your scalp praying, just praying, that your hair holds on for dear life.
The hair scare really stunned me into being grateful. My hair stood by me, through the thick and the thin. My hair is my coat of armor and I wear it as such. The idea of cutting any length of it off sends shudders down my spine, and even now, as a new mama, with a four-month old grabbing fists-full of my hair so frequently that I constantly find strands of my long dark hair tangled around her little baby fingers, I can’t bear the thought of converting to “mom” hair (whatever that is). I love my hair.
Sometimes, I actually hide behind my hair. And most often, my hair gives me that little bit of courage I need. When I blow out my hair, I feel extra fancy pants, and gain a little pep in my step that day, just because my hair is killing it that day. Even with a baby, I manage to get up and shower and do my hair, because I need that vote of self confidence, despite being covered in baby spit-up an hour later. My husband loves the way my hair smells and feels and he runs his fingers through my hair and I want to cry for the extra bit of attention, especially when our world is so squarely centered around our beautiful little girl right now.
So thanks, hair. You’ve been good to me, and I’ll try, sometimes in vain, to be good right back. [Even though you know I’ll continue to use a way-too-hot blow dryer and flat iron, I promise to use L’Oreal Paris Advanced HaircareVolume Filler (to give you a bit of oomph) and Smooth Intense (for serious repair), and give you a few breaks now and then too.]
Disclosure: Compensation was provided by L’Oreal’s Advanced Hair Care via Mode Media. The opinions expressed herein are those of the author and are not indicative of the opinions or positions of L’Oreal.
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