I am getting my hair cut today. This, in and of itself, is not remarkable in the least. The fact that I just had it done on Saturday however, is.
Some women could care less about how their hair looks. They are content with whatever way their hair grows. They may get the occasional trim but on the whole are not defined by their outward appearance but rather by who they are inside.
I am not one of those women.
Now I while I don’t freak out over a bad haircut or dye job (my philosophy is that it is just hair and no matter how painful the process, it WILL grow), I am one who cares very deeply about how her hair looks, how easy that look is to obtain and (although I hate to admit it) what it says about me to the outside world.
It’s a security blanket.
If my hair looks good and does the right things for my face, it doesn’t matter what I weigh, what my clothes cost or if my shoes pinch. When people look at my face they see a put together, strong, confident woman in spite of what is really going on inside. Better yet, when I BELIEVE it looks good, then I can fool myself into thinking that I am a put together, strong, confident woman and maybe, just maybe, begin to believe it…a little.
That’s how drinking was for me too. A security blanket that I couldn’t wait to get home and wrap myself in. No matter how bad my day was or how mean people were or how much I had failed to accomplish, I knew that my security blanket was waiting at home to make me feel all warm and fuzzy again. It also made me feel like a put together, strong, confident woman. Better yet, it made me BELIEVE I was a put together, strong, confident woman…until it didn’t.
Eventually it revealed itself to be not a security blanket but something sinister that I allowed to rip away my soul and expose me. It made me believe that I was less than the sum of my parts. It had the power to destroy not only me but those around me including those I hold most dear and by drinking it I gave it that power.
I meet every day now with a feeling of gratitude to God and my family for loving me through that particular storm and revealing that bottle of wine for what it really was – not a security blanket but a crutch.
So today I’ll let go and ask my brilliant hairdresser to do what she wants instead of following my direction which is what got me into this pickle in the first place. To make me look like a put together, strong, confident woman once again. And if she doesn’t? Hey…it’s just hair…it will grow.