Obsessed

From about grade 7 through grade 13, I had a horrible obsession with my hair. I couldn't stand it. It seemed to be the only thing that stood between me and happiness or so I thought. It was always the punch line of the next joke...
'Have you been climbing up a tree lately?'
I had to think about it... because I was indeed a tree climber.
Innocently I responded, 'No, why?'
'Because you have a big bird nest on the top of your head' She laughed. Followed by the rest of my class. I wanted to think of something mean and cruel about her, many things came to mind, but I knew that it could really hurt her feelings... I didn't want that, even though she had crushed my self esteem just the minute before.

Just before I was about to enter high school, I was so excited to go to a hair salon for the first time (my mom had always cut my hair) I told her that I wanted a new look. I made the mistake of going in, without a plan. I just told her I wanted to look good. I walked out of the salon holding back the tears, and bit my tongue when the hair stylist asked 'what do you think?'

My first thought was that my hair had a striking resemblance to Elvis Presly. She had cut what looked like side burns, and she left a little length on the top that puffed out... and needed a tonne of hair glue to hold down, so my hair was always hard as a rock. When my hair finally grew out, I was still never happy with it.
I spent countless hours doing, then re-doing my hair, crying... and what became of my big hair was an obsession. I would have done anything and everything to not relive the pain of the constant teasing that followed me all throughout my elementary years, and so I began to pull. If after doing my hair, any strands or chunks looked out of place, instead of crying out in frustration and starting over, I would simply just pull the hair out from the root. I have lost count of how many times I've pulled out my hair, once I even did so, not realizing my sister was right beside me. When she saw the chunk of hair in my hand, she stood shocked. I hadn't even so much as flinched, when I had wrapped my fingers around a big chunk of hair... fueled by raging anger that numbed any feelings of pain... I pulled.

Every day I would curse 'I hate my hair'... until one day I realized, in absolute horror... some hair is better than no hair. On August 6th (my birthday), a few weeks before beginning my final year of high school, it happened. What I would define as the worst day of my life up until that point. I was camping with my family at Sandbanks beach when I decided I would make breakfast for everyone. Having never operated a BBQ before, I turned on the gas, and gave it a few minutes. I went about my business and got a little distracted, before I remembered breakfast. I picked up the small box of matches, striking one, I leaned in to ignite a flame. Only what came towards me before I even had time to react was a huge ball of fire. I jumped back. Relief swam through me, I was not burned. I wasn't hurt, but there was a very distinct foul smell. Burnt plastic? Sulpher? At this point my sisters had gathered around to see what the commotion was. Each movement I made snowed burnt ash everywhere, but I had absolutely no idea where it was coming from. It was my sister who pointed out, that my hair had been burned. My first reaction was to feel with my hands, only to see more burnt ash snowing all around me. I had so much hair product in my hair that my shoulder length hair in some places had singed straight to the root. What was left needed to be cut.

I went from fussing over my hair for hours to basically getting out of bed and going. Every ritual I had ever known, was gone. My hair, which had become my identity, was no longer a number one priority. After many many haircuts, and more then two years of short hair... I was letting it grow out.

Again, with all of the awkward in between growing phases... I fussed over my hair. Each and every day was an opportunity for a new look, and an up-do that looked as though I had just left the salon and was off to some special occasion. I had decided I would not allow myself to pull out any hair, even though the urges on some days were so strong and hard to ignore. What I craved was the attention and compliments, I would get. It was like shedding off ten pounds, and getting noticed for it. I was on top of the world, and now.. my biggest insecurity was now my strongest asset.

Fast forward a few more years...

After having a baby... surviving the first year, with thankfully not burning the house down. (making baby food, requires a timer. I realize now how easily I am distracted and lose focus) My hair was the last thing on my mind. I would save the up-dos for those special occasions, and mostly tie it back in a pony tail or wear it down. YES!!! Wear it down!! Big, curly and wild!! I love how it's not a touchy subject anymore. When I hear 'Your so small, and you have really big hair' I laugh and say 'I know'. Obviously... I see it in the mirror every day... It's kind of hard to miss. I think it's just funny... how priorities change. What was so important... is just not that important anymore. I admit though.. Once, very recently... I cried over a bad hair cut. I don't get it cut very often. It is now a tradition, once a year (mother's day) and this mother's day cut was a little disappointing... which really inspired this little blast into the past. As I lay in bed... that night, I began to write. I was very emotional, and I couldn't figure out for the life of me.. why? It was just hair, and hair grows back... but at that moment I felt so discouraged. After writing for an hour or so... I had uncovered all of those memories. Some had been long forgotten... but it was a trigger held deep in my subconscious just waiting to be found. It was a healing process. After all that emotion had been unleashed... I couldn't help but laugh.