Anti-milestone

I have another milestone to report. Or reverse-milestone, anti-milestone, really. If you’ve been a reader of this blog for a while, you may be shocked, but…

I’ve decided to stop dyeing my hair.

Usually women decide to START dyeing their hair, that the white is showing enough that they feel they need to start disguising themselves.

I, however, have been dancing with the hair dye since I was 15 and my mum let me try henna. Since then, it’s been a lot of different shades of red, many attempts at purple (a vibrant marroon was the closest I could get without stripping my hair), black (not at all attractive on me), and highlighted blonde and red (many experiments with which have been documented on the blog).

But no more.

Granted, there are some blondish bits at the ends that bug me. And since giving birth, there are some definite white strands. And I’m only 28! I’m also curious to see what my natural hair color is these days. And since it’s been about 3 or 4 months since any hair color has been applied to my locks, it seems like now’s the time to stop. I also don’t have time — well, I don’t have a dedicated hour or two where I KNOW I’ll have the time. The little tyke could wake up at any moment, even if I think he’s down for a long nap.

So while I could have one last go to darken up the light ends, I actually don’t want to cover up the white hair anymore. I haven’t even pulled them out.

I remember the day when I found my first true white hair. I’d found lighter colored hairs here and there — pale blonde, but not actually gray or white. But this one was a thick, wiry white hair.

It was the morning of my 24th birthday. I’d moved to Rochester just a few months before. It was late January (as my birthday is every year). It was cold. I’d broken up with the boyfriend I’d moved here with. My job was going down the drain. I was looking for another one. We were heading into February and life looked a bit dark and dismal, both outside the window and inside my own head.

And there it was. A white hair. Happy Birthday. I told my boss at work who promptly made fun of me. 24 and worrying about a white hair.

Now I don’t care. A few white hairs, a few encroaching wrinkles. I think I look better as I get older. I feel better within myself. And while the thought of turning 30 is daunting (at least it’s not the next birthday!), I think my 30s are going to be better than my 20s. I’ll probably say the same thing about my 40s and 50s too. I think they’ll leave me more fulfilled and satisfied with the way I’m living my life.

So, no more dyeing of the hair. At least for now. It seems like this is my window of opportunity to enjoy just being my natural self until the day comes that I feel like I need to go back into disguise.