My hair and I are definitely engaged in a serious relationship, and I am just not sure what type it is. At times, she is like another aspect of my physical self, as in one more thing I need to get perfect before leaving the house. Other times, we have a parent-child relationship, and she just won't behave no matter what. Every now and then, she is like a new lover that I love to stroke, feeling her softness underneath my fingertips, excited by the new sensations. Occasionally, she seems more like my husband during my menstrual cycle, beyond irritating and disagreeable. Whenever I try to define it, the relationship doesn't seem quite right as I feel a strong tie between my hair and me as a child.
I have learned so much about parts of me the last three years that I don't really understand how I was able to accomplish so much before being that I was so unaware of who I am. Of course, in order for me to learn more about "me," I had to stop looking for answers from an external authority and start looking from within. This wasn't an easy concept being raised in the Roman Catholic church in a less compassionate time when God was always watching, waiting to punish you for your sins, and every lie was a black mark on your heart that would eventually send you to Hell. The first step to me learning that my body has its own intelligence and ways of communicating, or that olive oil and coconut oil work best on my skin, or that my perfect alone time involves sun-bathing in the backyard listening to AMG, 2nd 2 None, and DJ Quik was learning what love meant to me, so that I could learn how to love myself.
I had spent so much of my life focusing on loving others, I didn't understand how I felt loved, although I could point to innumerable examples of when I did not. I have now realized that I feel loved when I get back exactly what I give, a skill which requires a nearly photographic memory, an almost obsessive attention to detail, the observational skills of a international spy, the ability to plan like a master strategist, analyze behavioral patterns like a psychiatrist, and anticipate situational needs like a dental assistant, all of which is utilized on a daily basis to show me that I hold a place that no other ever will. That is how I love and how I want to be loved. Obviously, I was the best person to accomplish this. Not someone else.
From that love grew the desire to treat myself like a precious treasure, a lesson my early years of this lifetime contradicted. I was able to quit smoking after 17 years, lose an additional 65 lbs, significantly reduce my consumption of animal flesh, use food as my medicine rather than an emotional drug, and stop allowing the negativity of others to consume me because I was someone who deserved to be cared for, cherished, revered, honored, protected, and loved. Just like my hair.
I now have a bonding ritual with my hair, one that involves covering her at night and daily moisturizing with my home-blended leave in conditioner of about 1/4 C of olive oil, 1/4 cup of Garnier Fructis cream conditioner and distilled water in a large fuchsia spray bottle. I am excited to see how she will be without the deliberate abuse of heat, relaxers, dyes, or incompatible creams and shampoos. I look forward to branching out with different products and techniques as she grows, although I am still not sure how we are going to fare at least two months of temperatures in the 100teens. I do know, however, that I will appreciate her and love her one inch at a time.
I now see the type of relationship that has eluded me, mother-daughter. Time to see her blossom. No more Weeds.
