During my senior year of high school I learned about the 5 stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance.
Last week, I learned that a bad hair experience not only applies to every single one of these, but also taught me a lot about myself. Here are the 5 stages of grief applied to a bad haircut, along with a valuable life lesson.
I'm sitting in the chair. My natural dark brown locks that previously flowed over my shoulders like silk are now caged by aluminum strips. As the dye slowly transforms my appearance, I imagine the outcome: I'm going to look like I belong on Baywatch. Oh man. I'm gonna look like Blake Lively. Yeeesss.
An unknown length of time elapses and the truth is unveiled. I see it. Bright yellow streaks mixed in with my dark, wet hair. No no no no no this isn't supposed to look like this. It's okay! When it dries it's going to look fine! (Cue Denial). I'm sure it looks good. It has to!
To my dismay, the more it dries, the lighter the yellow-blonde streaks become. Oh dear Lord I look like a golden skunk, I think to myself. Sadly, I am either too concerned for others' feelings, or I'm just not assertive, because when the stylist says, "Ohh! It's so pretty!" as she blow dries my hair, I don't say anything but, "You're right! Wow, it looks so good!"
Then, as I get up and pay an absurd amount of money, the Anger sets it. I storm out to my car and cannot believe I just spent that much money on something that looks so incredibly horrendous.
I fume the whole way home, so angry that I fight back some tears. I honestly feel like this is going to effect my entire life. I get home and immediately put my hair in a bun and throw on a baseball cap. (That baseball cap didn't come off for a solid 36 hours.)
Now I Bargain. I think, maybe I can just dye it back. But of course I can't. Not only would that probably destroy my hair, but I couldn't justify wasting all of the money I just spent. So then I think, maybe she can fix it? Or I can just wait a few weeks and then dye it back. The possibilities seem both endless and nonexistent at the same time.
The options get overwhelming, and as I look in the mirror one more time, the Depression sets in. I become incredibly sad. (Enter life lesson). I realize that my hair is more than just hair. It's a security blanket. Why is something as stupid as hair causing so much sadness? As I wallow in self-pity and insecurity I realize that maybe having a bad haircut is good for me. Maybe the vulnerability will be a good thing. I realize that just because I have some unappealing yellow streaks in my hair, that doesn't mean everyone I pass is going to be staring at it thinking, "Wow, that's horrible."
Like really, how selfish was I to think that?
My outlook on life should not be determined by my hair. My joy should have zero connection whatsoever to vanity. I should find my security in the love of God, not some hair.
(Enter Acceptance.)
Honestly, it's not that bad. Maybe it will grow on me. Either way, I've learned something from this. 1st of all, I'm a brunette for a reason. 2nd of all, my hair doesn't define me. It's not my security and it's not the source of my joy or identity.
Maybe for you it's the same. Maybe your hair is your security blanket too. It may sound stupid, but it's honestly true for a lot of us.
Don't let it be. Your identity is not your exterior. I challenge you to take whatever your security blanket is- your hair, whatever, and do something outside of your comfort zone. Be vulnerable with the world-- and be vulnerable with yourself.
