Blondes, they have more fun.

It seems like all my existential crises are about my hair.

Or at least reflected by it.

Which is probably not healthy. I shouldn't rebel against long gone voices and the damage they did, thumbing my nose at people I no longer have to please.

What if...

What if my hair was just...hair.

What would that feel like? To not have to hate it or change it or mold it or fix it to fit some random ideal of beauty I'll never fit anyway? What if it was just there? What if it just was? If I didn't have to dye it every two months, and worry about finding the money to get it cut, not finding it and cutting it myself? What if I just learned that it was ok, to be however it is? Mousy brown and weirdly waved, is that ok? Can I do that? Can I leave it alone and learn to just love it, to love me, without fixing anything for anyone, including myself? Can I just be enough?

Just as I am, without alteration, with the understanding that I am not intended to fit an ideal. I do not have to be pleasing to anyone's eyes but my own. I don't have to be blonde. I don't have to be thin. I don't have to be anything.

Maybe being me is enough. Maybe it isn't. But I'll take it one step at a time, and the first step, I think, is literally getting back to my roots.