It's Not About The Hair

So if we're friends on The Facebook, you saw me complaining about how short my hair is when curly. Yes, the very haircut I was just in love with made me miserable when I tried to 'fro-out. It's so fucking short, y'all. I almost cried real tears. And it was hard for me to understand at first.

Until K was born, I'd always worn my hair short, about ear/chin length. Always. That was just my preference, my look. Short, bouncy hair. Then I stopped relaxing it and grew it out, sometimes down my back, sometimes just to my shoulders, but always long, whether curly or straight. It became my thing. I didn't think it would be a huge deal to go short again, until I stepped out of the shower after my first shampoo since the haircut, and looked in the mirror.

It wasn't until I was getting ready for work that it really hit me, though. It's not about my hair being short--my hair grows fast and I'm sure it will be back to it's regularly-scheduled length by Christmas. It's about my face. My face is different than it was when I used to wear my hair short. Different in a bad way. I came to realize that I just don't like my face.

I don't like the shadows under my eyes or the old blemish scars or that if I stare long enough, one eye is smaller than the other. I don't like this weak-ass chin that is now accentuated by my short-ass hair. I don't like that the weight I've gained has made my cheeks look puffy. I JUST DON'T LIKE MY FACE. I can admit that and still go on with my day, live my life, pay my bills.

Only thing that has my panties in a bunch is that now I don't have all my hair to hide behind.

*smooches...avoiding mirrors these days*
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whooo it feels good to let that out...how long til December?