06/18/2018: Adolescence

It’s mid-June in the suffocating heat of a typical Florida evening. Mosquitos are swarming in my periphery as I sit cross-legged on a white spray-painted metal chair. Its 1950’s floral design is typical of my mother’s decorating style – beautiful, but just uncomfortable enough so you aren’t tempted to sit still for too long. Always temporary. The arms dig into my thighs, but I don’t move them.

Chloe is tending to our mother’s lush but quickly browning garden; watering the plants she cannot take care of while stuck in the bulky cast that has snaked itself halfway up her calf, tangled around her like a wild vine on an otherwise pristine home. Watching her wheel herself around, frustrated at her personal freedom having been stripped from her, reminds me of a caged animal. And an almost-trainwreck; that single breath of a moment when things aren’t the worst they can be, adrenaline and sadness running through you because there’s nothing you can do except watch and wait. Except, instead of an oncoming train, it’s an oncoming surgery and a piece of metal stuck in her foot. You can’t really feel empathy until you see someone you love look like their world has come to a halt and try to adapt in spite of it.

Meanwhile, my brother-in-law is in the side yard running after the puppy he and my sister share. Their black-and-white dog is small, lanky, and he reminds me of an awkward teenager when he walks, but he’s charming. His short snout makes him sound like a pig when he breathes, and he loves to be cradled like a child. I often jokingly call him my nephew, maybe partly because I’d like to have a kid around that isn’t entirely dependent on me for survival just yet. But mostly just because I like his company. It’s harder for any of us to act anything but happy around him, and that’s become more of a rarity lately.

Chase’s laugh is carried toward me with a warm seabreeze that feels like home, and I feel at ease for the first time in a while. Not like my typical quasi-adult self who’s trying to politely fit in and find some place to hide out until a better opportunity makes me move in another direction, but like I’m six years old again. I look at the clear blue open sky and suddenly I’m riding my bike – a light blue Schwinn with a wicker basket and flowers stuck on the side. I’m trying to keep up with my brother and his bright red speed bike as my neighbor yells to me, “He went that way!” Thanking him, my tires skid on the smooth asphalt as I make a sharp left turn. Alex is in the distance and the only thing I can think about is making it to the end of the street before he turns around. Trying to play catch-up.

I am not six anymore. I have jury duty tomorrow and I often think about things like marriage and apartments and the names of the children I plan on having. I worry about money and how in the world I can make a career out of the things I have been passionate about since I was actually six. I am not six, but I can pretend to be for a few more minutes.

 

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Everyone Is A Bit Of A Mess

I am broken.

So completely, unabashedly broken. Well at least the “unabashedly” part is a work in progress.

There is no definitive line between having it together and falling apart. Daily life is not set in black in white; even if it’s not always a rainbow of colors, it’s at least hundreds of variations of grey. Depends on the day.

Lately, I’ve been having some grey days. There are ups and downs, because among the “downs” I choose to let myself have some “ups,” which is an important lesson I wish I had learned a long time ago. But in the grey days I have learned to look closer at the reality of other people’s lives.

I am not the only person facing demons. Far from it, in fact.

Sure that seems obvious when actually saying it aloud or putting pen to paper, but it’s so easy to get caught up in your own head and not realize that your problems, while they have merit, are not exclusive. I would be wasting my time trying to compare my life to other’s because I can see their lives in easy black and white moments – I’m not feeling everything they feel or seeing every detail exactly like they can. To put it more eloquently, Steven Furtick says “The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with everyone else’s highlight reel.”

Even with the people I am closest to, with whom I get a glimpse of most of their good and bad moments, I could still easily point to all the ways in which they have their life more figured out than I do.

Me? I feel like a mess 24/7. I’ve never not felt like a mess. I’m a terrible communicator when it comes to my emotions (and I have a lot of them), I procrastinate out of fear, I push some people away and let in some that I shouldn’t, I think too much about self-improvement to the point of not actually doing anything to improve, I don’t pray enough. I’m going to stop there. You get the point.

Your immediate reaction, if you’re anything like me, may be “Yeah, but…”

But nothing. I am a mess in some ways, but not in others. It’s just not always easy to look past the ways in which you are a mess because those qualities tend to be more prevalent and problem-causing. The people in my life that I admire for their abilities to handle things all the time have their own faults and shortcomings that I’m not paying attention to because I’m too busy thinking about how much better than me they are.

A better use of time is, if you notice a quality you like in someone, point it out to them and learn from what they do. You can’t always mimic what other people do because you still have to be your own person and focus on the gifts that God gave you, but maybe there’s some sort of lesson in there for you as well.

Otherwise, calm down. Get it together. You’re fine. Everything is fine.

That’s pretty much my mantra when I’m freaking out about anything ever. But seriously, calm down and do something productive. Even if it’s not perfect, move in some sort of positive direction because sitting back and watching other people live their lives “better” than you is only going to bring you down and get you nowhere. My mom says something to the effect of, “If you’re not moving forward, you can only go backwards.” There is no safe middle ground.

Everyone else does not have it all together and you aren’t 100% a mess. Most of us are somewhere in the middle; our shortcomings are just way more apparent than other people’s. However that’s also no excuse to sit back and say “I’m doing fine.” It means that you may not be exactly where you should be, but you can work on that. In doing so, you can also remain positive and remember that no two people are doing or have done this ‘life’ thing the exact same way.

We’re all trying to figure it out.

 

Ombre Pink Hair! (How-To) (Kind Of)

Boy, I never learn.

“I will never dye my hair again,” I stated emphatically multiple times after my first hair disaster that resulted in chopping it all off. I even wrote a post about the whole fiasco.  One single day after making this statement for the thousandth time, I found myself in the beauty supply store. Hair dying is addicting and I think I’m developing a problem…but my hair is pink and that’s cool so I’ll stick to my hair-damaging ways for now.

Alright, so I was blonde. It was weird and looking back at photos, I completely support my decision to switch to…well, any other color really.

This was pre-pink me:

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Not the worst, but you know, also not the best.

I figured that I won’t risk bleaching heathy hair again after last time (ha…yeah we’ll see how long that mentality lasts), and my hair is already damaged so why not do something fun? Hence, pink hair.

I didn’t want my whole head to be pink though (my boyfriend says I have a little bit of punk in me, but I know I’m just not edgy enough to commit to a full head of pink hair), so I bought some root touch-up dye in order to achieve an ombre effect. At least, that’s what I was hoping would happen.

Surprise: it worked. I know, I don’t know how it worked, but it worked. I’m even more shocked than you are.

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Post-brown dye (featuring a makeup-less me and fuzzy, product-less hair):

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I did some research and decided to go for a not-so-harsh dye so I wouldn’t completely ruin my hair (again). I know everyone swears by Manic Panic, but I read a lot of good things about Punky Colors so I gave that a shot.

Cue me entering Ulta in hopes of finding a pastel pink dye (Cotton Candy), but they were sold out. Me being me (i.e. impatient), I opted for this color instead:

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It. Is. Very. Bright. Maybe to someone who is used to fun colored hair it isn’t, but for this newbie it was a shocker.

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So that’s the end result, right?

Oh, far from it!

The color ended up fading pretty darn fast, and by that I mean it was already a weird brown by the next day. Granted, I used a very small amount of dye due to how bright the color is and I only left it in for about an hour before rinsing it out.

After surprising my green-haired boyfriend with my semi-pink locks, I managed to convince him to re-dye his to match mine. Because why not.

So we’re standing in Ulta once again in the hair dye aisle, a sea of rainbow colors in front of us. We were trying to pick out some bleach for him when he gets this mischievous look on his face. Immediately picking up on what he was thinking, I said “NO.”

And yet somehow an hour later we were in my bathroom re-bleaching the already damaged part of my hair because, of course, it needed to be pinker. I also let him bleach it as some sort of show of how much I trust him I guess, despite me freaking out most of the time while trying to tell him exactly how to do it and inevitably washing the bleach out early because I got scared. Still, magically, it turned out great.

I mean sure he managed to bleach this one weird patch right against my scalp, but worse things could have happened.

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(Yes, this is my phone background and yes I am the exact kind of overly mushy girlfriend I never thought I’d be.)

We match! Kind of. My hair turned out brighter because I mixed in more of the Flamingo Pink into the Cotton Candy pink than I did for him (the Cotton Candy alone was so light that it likely would have completely faded out by the next day…I know this because his hair is completely blonde now) (it suits him though) (even if I am a little biased because I think he looks cute no matter what) (sorry, I’m getting mushy again).

I ended up wrapping my hair in an old tee shirt and keeping the dye in overnight, which is also probably why mine is still pink.

But this color has been fun and when it fades too much, I still have a bunch of dye leftover to add a little in before a shower. It’s basically a tinted conditioner, so to my knowledge it’s not very damaging. I’m holding off on touching it up for now though because it does fade nicely into this pretty pastel peachy color (what I actually wanted to begin with).

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So yeah, that’s the story of how I got pink hair.

It worked in my favor, but I’m sure if I told any professional how I achieved this look they would give me a mixed look of pain and confusion. But I’m just a girl who was tired of blonde hair and was also badly scorned by a supposed professional. I’m happy with it, it’s fun, and my hair doesn’t feel any more damaged than it was so I can’t complain. At first it was dry and weird, but after a couple days it went back to normal.

Comment below and give me some opinions, tips, whatever! I want your dyeing fiascos and success stories so I know I’m not the only one who doesn’t know what they’re doing.

Living

Once woven into mine, these severed hands loved me then and they care for me now

But hands are not houses and houses only become homes if the people inside them bring inanimate things to life

A bedside lamp won’t just be a grey lamp with a white shade but a means of which to swallow every line Atticus Finch will speak past 3 a.m. when I’m feeling lost again

And my bed will no longer be the only place I can rest

I am cared for, I know, but love that was born without wings is a baby bird never taught to fly: jumping from twig walls and willing to die trying, so show him that wings are not evil extremities ready to steal him away

They are tools worthy of pride, capable of taking him anywhere his mind and body push him to go

And let him go there

This is the kind of heartache that camps out in the sun for so long it becomes dull, shriveled into nothing and obsolete

I can’t bring myself to throw it away; it’s become something to look at and remember that it once sustained entire lives

There are days to come when sleep will only appear because I am tired, and Joy will be sitting calmly at the foot of my bed waiting for me to wake up; get some rest and get back out of bed in the morning

Show me that it’s possible and I’ll tell them that I’ve seen it

We can be happy without metal chains slithering around all of our feet

You can love me if You want to, but I am prepared to embrace the entire universe regardless

To look at constellations like blueprints even if they don’t make sense yet; to build something out of the stardust anyway

I will live right here or in a thousand inhospitable places – anything You can imagine – and never hesitate to call it a home

Our home, full of life


 

Hopeless Wanderer – Mumford & Sons

Online Store Launch (officially, yay!)

If you’ve been in any sort of contact with me over the past 8 months or so, you’ll have heard about my plan to open up an eventual Etsy store to coincide with this blog. After countless design and product and vision changes, it is finally up and running with my first four products!

I chose to create two designs based on two bible verses that I find equally encouraging and impactful, yet still simple and encompasses who God is: 1 Corinthians 13:13 (“And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”) and Isaiah 43:2 (“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.”).

Both are available as prints in three sizes. You can also get 1 Corinthians 13:13 on a tee shirt, and the Isaiah 43:2 print is available on a tote bag. I’ve attached images below, but feel free to visit my Etsy as well!

www.etsy.com/shop/live3one 

Thanks for being so supportive and patient as I worked out all the kinks!

 

watersprint2watersteewaterstotewaterstoteandprint

Semi-Introverted Dilemma

At nine a.m. yesterday I woke to my mother peering anxiously in my doorway. I checked my phone: she had called me seconds prior. Considering I’ve slept through fire alarms and almost break-ins, I imagined she began walking up the stairs as she hit the call button, knowing that the gentle buzz of my phone under my pillow wouldn’t have much of an effect on this eternally heavy sleeper, try as she might. She made her way toward my curtains as I let out a disgruntled mumble of indecipherable words. Pulling them tightly together, she alerted me with gentle haste that there were men climbing their way to my windows to work on them. I didn’t know what “working on my windows” specifically entailed, but as I recognized the clatter of an extending ladder and gravelly voices yelling back and forth, I wrenched myself out of the comfort of my bed. I’d wanted to sleep in. I shouldn’t have stayed up so late, but I’ve been thinking that particular string of words for most of my life.

Today, the clatter and yelling escalated with the addition of what I’m assuming is some sort of very obnoxious drilling. I haven’t paid enough attention to think about it, just gotten through this time with my headphones on at near-full volume. My curtains are still closed now, giving my room a constant early morning vibe.

I love the warm rush of sunlight greeting my cool skin every morning. I love the way my room is transformed into a place full of life the moment the sun filters in. Like it’s ready for the day to begin, excited to start something. Anything. I love that both the daily grey sky and chilly air have finally given way to familiar warm breezes and the need for sunglasses until the sun goes to sleep.

But when the sun finally came out of hiding, I unintentionally dove into it. I don’t often  like keeping my curtains closed, that sad hermit-feeling of being closed off to the rest of civilization. I don’t like staying in one place for too long, the walls of my bedroom seeming to shrink by the second. I don’t like living in my own head for too long either, but that’s a little harder to get away from.

It’s frustrating being an introvert who can’t stand to be alone for too long. And being alone for two days, shut off from the world, has been a challenge I’m adjusting to.

I used to avoid social gatherings like the plague, but I’ve since taught myself how to turn on my outgoing switch when I need it. There was a time when I was addicted to that sort of thing: the way I could adapt to any social event. It was a game only I knew I was playing. My newfound party trick was actually talking to people instead of hiding in the corner or not going at all, and it wore me out like you wouldn’t believe. I was constantly drained, running on fumes 99% of the time, but I was tired of the version of myself who read books alone in her room or stared emptily at the walls. I spent my whole life being that person. The discovery that I could transform into whoever I wanted was a challenge I had never been brave enough to explore until, suddenly, I let go and just did it.

I was in a constant state of busyness, filling my schedule with friends and jobs and bible studies and any new thing I could possibly try. Every minute of every day was accounted for. That in and of itself isn’t exactly a bad thing, but I realized my intentions were wrong when I found myself in a situation with one particular unplanned evening all to myself. Somehow the night had gone unnoticed, left completely blank on my calendar. I sat in the breakroom at work that morning texting friend after friend after friend, fingers frantically asking for anybody to spend time with me. The panic of going back to who I had always been built up with every rejection and I didn’t know what to do with the sinking fear residing in the pit of my stomach. It was foreign to me, a deafening pounding in my ears that yearned for someone else to quiet down because I was tired of doing it myself.

Looking back I think I was afraid of getting addicted to being alone again. I wasn’t ready for the excitement of new people, new activities, new experiences to die down yet because if I spent too much time alone I thought I might have permanently retreated back into my turtle-shell state of living. I don’t like being closed off to the rest of the world, but it’s an easy trap to fall into.

That’s when I learned about the difference between wanting to be alone and hiding. Wanting to be alone and being lonely. Wanting to be alone and using my introvertedness as an excuse.

I’ve been realizing lately that when you put yourself in an unhealthy situation, sometimes God lets you live in it for a while to make you realize the importance of it. To remember it for longer than to get out of just one single situation. He also has a tendency to take away the things that you use as a crutch. Friendships and busyness quickly became a crutch for me so it came to a screeching halt out of nowhere, something beyond my control, and I was forced to reflect on myself.

So now I’m here, quite some time later and thankfully past that weird phase of life, but the confusing push and pull of whether or not to socialize still hangs over me from time to time.

I could have gone out last night with a group of new people I don’t know very well. Maybe after a day of going crazy from working at home all day, it would have been good for me. It wouldn’t have been a waste of time; I could have gotten something out of the experience. But lately I’ve realized that it isn’t just people (generally speaking) I like to spend time with; it’s certain people. It’s those who don’t so easily make me feel drained. The ones who I can spend hours upon hours with and still feel happy and full of life. That’s not to say I should only ever do that simply because it’s what I like, but I simultaneously feel like I get a lot more out of being in the presence of someone I am comfortable with and I feel like I have more to give in return.

I will likely never be the kind of person who helps people, who talks about God, who does anything very useful in the type of changing environment that requires talking to a lot of different people. I have an appreciation for the people who can connect with others in that way, but I know I thrive with deep personal one-on-one connections and that’s what I am seeking to make the most of. I will try new things, I will put myself in other environments, but I won’t try to be somebody I can’t be because that would be a waste of who God made me to be.

Life is a balancing act. Socialize, but make time for yourself so you have enough to give back when you are around people. Go where you are comfortable because you can thrive there, but don’t close yourself off to new possibilities.

This is starting to sound like a motivational speech, as many of my rants tend to do. My point is that sometimes God puts you in uncomfortable situations to teach you an important lesson, but we are living in a generation that tells you you have to constantly do things that scare you. Yes that’s true to a certain extent because trying new things and making connections and other things of the like can often lead to figuring out who you are, what you are good at, etc., but you don’t have to live every second of your life moving so quickly that you don’t take time to reflect on any of it.

Doing what scares you doesn’t mean wasting time in places you don’t think you belong. It doesn’t mean you have to do things you don’t take much of an interest in or that won’t add something to either your or someone else’s lives. Unless you believe there is a legitimate purpose for doing said things, “living life to the fullest” does not look exactly the same for any two people. Simply go where you believe you are lead to go. 

I Swear, This Isn’t Actually About Hair

“It’s just hair,” she whispers to herself on repeat. “It’s just hair,” her voice shakes with every falling strand onto her bathroom floor, dusting past her shoulders, dull scissors in one hand and the other white-knuckled grasping the counter. She’s trying to maintain her composure. She is healthy, she has people who love her, she does not need to cry over something as trivial as the length of her hair. The people she loves will still love her the same, she can still do good for the world, she can still be kind and fun and God-loving and she can still be exactly the same person she was ten minutes ago, just without a waterfall of curls that cascade down her back and over her face. She should not care so much about something so small, but there are annoying, pressing thoughts tangling around her rational mind. What else will she have to hide behind? What else will make her pretty? What else will be her security blanket?


That was dramatic.

Anyway.

You never know what you have until it’s gone, right? Someone please go back in time and tell that to me before I had to become the girl cutting off her own hair in her bathroom at midnight.

Long story short, I tried to dye my hair blonde temporarily. It didn’t work out, I went to a salon to have it fixed and the guy completely fried my hair. I mean fried. Dead. A tangled mess on top of my head that I couldn’t run my fingers through without the risk of never getting them back out. There was no coming back from the rat’s nest that my once Rapunzel-esque hair resembled, so I cut it off.

The hair I’d spent over a year growing out; the hair I swore I would never cut short again (actually begged everyone I know to yell at me if I ever even considered it); the hair that had always been my security blanket and the reason I was incredibly insecure circa 2015 because, for some reason, I decided to chop it all off for no good reason whatsoever: gone. Again. Except this time it’s worse because the hair that I have left doesn’t curl the way it used to and it has the texture of something resembling hay because, like I said, it’s completely fried.

Do I sound annoyed? Upset? Like maybe that little dramatic introduction maybe wasn’t dramatized at all and I actually did have (at least) one meltdown over something as trivial as my hair? Yeah, let’s move on.

I felt like my femininity was taken away the second I looked in the mirror to see the damage that had been done. Scratch that, I feel like my femininity has been taken away. I’m feeling it right now, hardcore. In a culture that glorifies being youthful and “sexy” all the time, I simultaneously feel like I’ve unknowingly joined both the Golden Girl’s and Boy Meets World casts with this short curlyish ‘fro thing on top of my head.

And that’s not to say that short hair isn’t pretty. It just isn’t me. It really isn’t me.

Who am I without my long hair that everyone used to rave about? Was my attractiveness ever about me at all, or did my long curls give me some sort of “pretty girl” illusion? I’m not going to lie and tell you that I’m happier now that I have this semi-curly/very fried bowl cut, but I am working on at least calling it a blessing in disguise. I swear, I’m trying. Hear me out.  

I placed far too much of my worth in my appearance; I wanted to be conventionally attractive so I ate less, worked out more, and kept my hair long. It worked. I received more positive attention, my friends started referring to me as “hot” (which, of course, I laughed at even though secretly it made me feel really good considering my previous nicknames tended to revolve around the word “chubby”), and my family would always comment on how great I looked. I was skinny and strong and had long curly locks, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. I’d also be lying if I said I don’t miss it.

But while compliments and feeling good about myself were all nice and wonderful, my purpose is greater than fitting into an image of being someone simply pretty. I never wanted to be somebody with no substance beyond my outward self. I never had a lot of respect for women/men who only focus on their outward appearance (though attention to your outward appearance is great as long as it’s not an unhealthy obsession), but that is the way our culture unfortunately is and like so many of us, I bought into it. I bought into it so much that I let something like a mistake involving my hair make me stay home more often and put on a baseball cap right as I crawled out of bed today because I didn’t even want to have to look at it myself.

Hence, me walking into a beauty supply store this evening to look for hair extensions only to walk out after seeing the price for said hair extensions and crying in the car the whole way home. Most problems generally have at least some sort of solution, even if it isn’t ideal, but this does not. All I can do is wait God-knows-how-long for it to grow out. It’s a good thing I like hats.

So it’s more than a haircut. It should be freedom from my own rigid ideas of beauty and femininity; it should be joy in the fact that I was forced to look inward and figure out what really matters and realize why it is that I care so much. However, disappointingly enough, it’s feeling a lot less philosophical in practice.

Although there were a couple times when I thought, “I look like Eleven from Stranger Things,” and that made me feel a little better for a while, what’s really been going through my mind most of the time is generally something along the lines of “I look ridiculous,” “My hair was my one redeeming quality,” “My boyfriend is coming back from winter break in 18 days and I don’t know how to magically get more hair by then because I don’t want anyone, let alone him, to see me like this,” and “My days of being impulsive when it comes to my appearance are over.” (That last one is actually a positive. It’s about time I learned my lesson.)

Did you want inspirational B.S. or honesty? Because if I’m being totally unabashedly honest, I feel like garbage and it’s constantly on my mind and I wish my brain would shut up about this hair thing already, but it’s still bugging me.

However, and here is where I (finally) get to the point of this whole post, I will at some point let the lesson of this situation sink in. Sometimes you need time. I don’t know if that’s always the right thing to do, but if it helps you to not dwell on things in the long run, take a little time to wallow. Not too much; just enough to let the lesson resonate when you are ready for it. Make the best of any situation of course and don’t sweat the small stuff, but at the end of the day nothing is as black and white as it seems. Emotions are a thing and sometimes you need to feel them in order to let a lesson really hit you.

To an outsider, I probably seem like a silly girl with nothing better to do than to think about her hair. Which is fair. You, Mr. Outsider, sound like you have not experienced self loathing. Go you; that’s great. However to me, I see my sense of comfort in myself being taken away and I’m figuring out how to not let it feel so dramatic.

I swear, I’m overall a pretty calm person, just not about this one thing. We all have something that sets us off, and this is my thing. You’re welcome for that useless knowledge about my life. 

Here’s what I know I should (and swear I will) inevitably learn:

  • Don’t be impulsive. That whole “patience is a virtue” concept is actually really important. Also, do your research. (“Whoever is patient has great understanding…” Proverbs 14:29)
  • Your worth cannot be placed in trivial things like hair or makeup or perfecting your body. You can enjoy these things, but they are not what make you who you are. You are you for a reason and you were made by God as you are, so chill out. Take a breather. You’re fine. There are more important things going on. (“Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last; but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised.” Proverbs 31:30)
  • You can’t let other people dictate how you feel.
    1. This means: stop comparing. Yes the woman in the aisle next to you at the grocery store is pretty and yes she has beautiful hair or she has perfect skin or a not-crooked smile, but she isn’t you. She will never have all the qualities that make up who you are. Jealousy isn’t healthy. Or necessary. (“I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works…” Psalm 139:14)
    2. This also means: stop being so afraid of what other people are going to think of you. There are few times when this should be a genuine concern, like if you are not being a good influence on others or if you’re actively being a harmful representer of God. But when you run into that one guy you liked in middle school that didn’t like you back while you’re wearing sweatpants and no makeup, or when your too-blunt friend says that you need to lose a few pounds…brush those things off. Why would you let anyone else’s opinions (or assumed opinions) change your own? Why would you allow anyone to make you believe that you aren’t good enough? Especially when the same creator of the universe, the creator of your favorite flowers and every single beautiful thing on the earth, of all the people who care about you, also created you. (“Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, but our sufficiency is from God.” 2 Corinthians 3:5)
  • Move on, roll with the punches, learn your lesson, and get over yourself. (Too harsh? Whoops.) It’s not as big of a deal as you’re making it seem. You don’t need to take yourself so seriously. Life is full of goodness and joy and it’s not worth being upset long-term because that kind of attitude does nothing but cause yourself and those around you harm. (May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Romans 15:13)

So, hopefully, I’ve made my point and this doesn’t come across as me crying to my blogging friends about my dumb hair woes. It’s not about me; it’s about self-awareness and realizing what really matters and, at the end of the day, the things we worry about usually aren’t worth worrying about. “Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill,” as they say (no I don’t know who “they” are; please don’t ask me). At the end of the day, there are things greater than you going on in the world and whether it’s getting upset over someone cutting you off in traffic or worrying about failing a test or, God forbid, you have to cut off all your hair, feel whatever it is you need to feel for a minute and move on. Learn from it, take whatever you are supposed to take from it, talk to God about it, whatever you need to do, but don’t dwell on things that don’t really matter in the long run.