Confession: sometimes I would rather do anything than take a shower and wash my hair. I would more readily do laundry or clean the bathroom or have to do all of my Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve Day than expend the energy necessary to wash my hair (the showering part isn’t so bad if there’s no hair washing involved). In part, it requires so much energy because I tend to postpone the process for too long and then build up what’s required in my mind. When I finally take the leap and do the thing I’ve been putting off — in this instance washing my thick, curly hair — it’s not as bad as I made it out to be.
This was me the other day. And actually I realized it isn’t so much the washing process as it is the way thick curly hair tends to dry no matter how much product I add when it’s dripping wet. Curly hair has a mind of its own and that mind tends to be as unwieldy as the hair itself. All this to say, it can, and often does, become a bit like Monica’s hair in the episode of Friends where the humidity seems to cause Monica’s hair to expand to fill the space around her. Seriously not exaggerating here about the hair.
Given that my husband and I needed to go to the bank and the laundromat and we were going to get a bite to eat, I needed a way to tame my mane. As any curly girl can tell you, braids can be a go-to in such a moment, and so I decided that’s what I would do. Except braiding my own hair is not quite as easy as braiding my 14 year old’s hair. While I managed to get one braid in, my attempts to create the second one had my hands flailing about as if they, too, had a mind of their own, like the hair itself.
And so with determined focus I marched upstairs and knocked aggressively on my 16 year old’s bedroom door. In her terms, you could say my enthusiastic pounding gave her a bit of a jump scare and she told me she thought she was in trouble for something (mainly because I don’t tend to behave in such a manner and so she believed something must have been terribly wrong). I pointed to the hair in my hands and simply begged her, “Braid this!” It took her less than three minutes to tame the fluffy curls and as she worked she was quite complimentary of my braiding efforts.
A couple of things about this moment that I’ve carried with me and that cause me to smile inwardly and outwardly when I recall them. Her immediate response and assistance was exactly what I needed in that moment so there were no extra words and no conversational exchanges. Her tender care and attention to the task and to me; in other words she could read my emotions, but even more, she compared her efforts with the braid I’d done so she could make them even so they matched. Finally, when she was done, she told me I looked quite lovely: the braids, the black shirt, and the black flared pants.
Yes, for that moment, our roles were reversed. Partly because these laundromat trips are not my favorite and we hadn’t expected them to last this long but our landlord hasn’t gotten a new washing machine as quickly as we all anticipated. I think she could also tell I needed the food we were about to go get and that was clearly influencing my reactions. Her words and actions helped pave the way for me to take a breath and head out the door more quickly.
But even more, she and her sister see me in ways I don’t always see myself (and that truly is where the role reversal was most obvious). Yet it’s in these kinds of moments I also tend to see just how much the “look” like me; it’s in their words and their actions. As I exited my 16 year old’s room, my 14 year old came out to hug me and say goodbye and was equally quick to compliment my braids. But even without braids, when I lament the wild, unruly curls, they remind me my perspective seems a bit skewed. They also remind me of all the things I tell them about embracing who they are and not judging themselves on their appearance when they are overwhelmed or in an emotional headspace.
I don’t know how these judgments lodge in our female brains, but I have worked heartily to undo those negative ideas my girls have picked up in their short lives. All that comparison to images we know are not true reflections of actual women; we hold up these ideals as if they are not only real but attainable. We forget those well-worn words that beauty comes from within. Maybe because they are worn out words or tired phrases, we refuse to believe them or embrace them. But then I see the way these two incredible young women are in the world and I know without a doubt that well-worn or tired, those words carry the beauty we need to see in the world—the beauty of kindness and empathy and compassion. When I see these traits and others in them, I can’t help but think, wow, they really do look a lot like me. And that makes my heart smile.