It’s crazy how much simple thing about your appearance can make you feel such a range of emotions. Before Bahrain was ever a thought, I would normally dye my hair red. Not just “red,” but specifically “chocolate cherry” red. Why? My natural color when matched up while in my one summer course of “How to do Hair,*” was called “mousy brown.” I couldn’t make that up. It bugged me to no end. I was Noël, with the mousy brown hair. I instantly started wanting to dye it. I went through a bunch of colors in high school. I even did the all long hair but blonde in the front, brown in the back, 90’s thing. I was in my early 20’s when I found my red. I never did anything too “crazy” in my 20’s though.**
I decided to go blonde when we found out we were moving to Bahrain. First off I was scared I wouldn’t find a good stylist. One of my friends lived out here for a while wrote a status on Facebook that said, “When a stylist says they’ve been cutting hair for 20 years, make sure it wasn’t at an internment camp.” That was it for me. I had to go blonde. My roots looked gray with the red when it grew out, and it would look much nicer when it grew out with blonde. Had to be prepared.
When I moved to Bahrain I actually grew very comfortable with my blonde hair but I think it was for the wrong reasons. I was likable. I blended in. It was pretty on me. And I even found someone who does an incredible job with blonde hair, so it always looked very*** good. I just always felt, a little off. That is no one’s fault. That is something within me. Blonde hair kind of made me feel like I was trying to be someone I wasn’t. Like I just trying to fit in.
But here’s the thing, I never cared too much about fitting in until I was fat. While fat, I just wanted to feel accepted and feel like I was okay. “She may be fat, but she’s pretty! And she presents herself very well!” That felt like the highest compliment I could work towards.
So I stayed blonde. At this point you should see, this is a very personal thing along with this blog. This is the inner thoughts, and all that I am, for all of you to read and judge.
I like fun colored hair. I think if done well, it can look very nice. I also know if done wrong, it can look very trashy. But here’s the thing, when my hair was done, and curled, and set after dying it this purple, my literal first thought was, “There you are.” Like I had been looking for me, and I’m finally losing weight, and growing confident enough to just, be myself.
Some people are going to think it’s unprofessional, and that’s ok. Some people are going to think it’s for attention, and that is okay too.
At the end of the day, what it’s really for, is me. I’m happy. So that’s okay too. We don’t have to agree to be friends. Agreeing won’t make me a more or less of a nice person. Agreeing won’t make me like me. I have no issues with anyone who doesn’t like my hair or doesn’t like that I’m willing to be an Ombudsman with non-natural colored hair. It’s honestly okay. I can live with that and still call them friend if they can accept me anyways too. Life is too short. I know I kind of had a persona on. For those who bought a package that I ultimately wasn’t, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to trick anyone. I just want to be myself. I like who I am.
Food- left over chicken for breakfast, turkey avocado salad for lunch, spicy lamb sausage over peppers for dinner.
Did not eat- made the kids pasta and I had none of that.
Work out- was at home today. It was hard, long, and reminded me how much I hate working out alone.
*Summer after seventh grade I think? It was at the local trade school. I then switched to culinary and didn’t care for the whole experience.
** Being a box job purple haired waitress is different from being a professional done purple while you’re a writer and volunteer. I can admit that.
*** very, I can not express that enough. She does do a great job with hair and is very talented and fun. And I do appreciate her time and effort very much.