Losing Pigmentation

I think it was in my early thirties that I noticed my first gray hair.  I couldn't miss it; it grew straight up in a weird, zig-zag pattern from the middle of my part.  Envisioning a hairdo like Einstein if I left it there, I immediately plucked it out and went on about my day.  It grew back, I plucked it.  It grew back and brought some friends and I plucked those too. Eventually, I did realize that I could not keep plucking these unwanted strangers from my hairline and I immediately started dying my entire head instead.  Thinking back on it now, it was probably five gray hairs no one but me noticed, but I still felt compelled to hide them away.

For the next twentyish years, I mostly dyed my hair. (I did have two years in there where I was super green and cleaned house using only vinegar, didn't dye my hair, and tried natural deodorant.  My house always smelled like we were coloring eggs and I just smelled.)   I used box dye, had a friend dye it, paid a lot of money to have professionals dye it, and paid a little bit of money and a lot of time to have student professionals dye it.  I kept it the same color as my natural hair because I liked my natural color, just not the gray popping up in it.  I committed to every eight to ten weeks to go and sit and let chemicals leach into my hair and probably my skin in order to keep my hair the way I remembered it: not black, very dark brown, occasionally sun-kissed with a tiny bit of red.  

This worked well for many years until the gray became more abundant and harder to cover and the dye didn't last as long.  I would leave the stylist chair with hair that looked dyed for two days, looked amazing for a week, and then looked faded too soon after.  Was it worth my time, the money, and all these chemicals? Probably not but I guess I am more vain than I thought and kept it up. Until last year.  There was a lot of change in this last year and keeping up the cost and effort of hiding gray hair just seemed silly. Of all the things happening within this aging, perimenopausal/menopausal body, spending so much effort on coloring grays seemed less important than finding some estrogen, being active, and acknowledging that I am indeed 51 years old and it's okay to let some of it go.

So, I let it go. I am no longer dying my hair. I haven't since October.  And it is growing out and looking a hot mess and I am mostly okay with that.  I don't want to gray blend it or low light it or any of the things my hairdresser tells me I can do.  Just let it grow and grow out.  And boy is it!  The gray is really coming in and the bottom portions are so much lighter and I feel like people are looking at me and wondering if I know how bad my hair looks.  Oh, I know.  In retrospect, I should have stopped dying it during COVID, but I was dating this younger, hot man (see my person) and couldn't reveal I was a cryptkeeper!  Now that he wakes up next to me every day, he can know the truth.

If I seem very calm about this, please know I am not.  I was extremely jealous when I was with my sisters earlier this summer and counted maybe ten gray hairs between them.  Rude. I have a vision of myself in my mind's eye where I must be in my mid-thirties and when I look in a mirror I am shocked to not find her there.  Some days, I take in the gray and think "You beautiful Earth goddess!".  Okay, that has happened just once or twice.  Most days, I look and think "You frightening sea witch."  So, this is me in my sea witch era and mostly embracing it. Okay, kind of embracing it.  Um, more like admitting that I am in my sea witch era.

Sea Witch

Earth goddess

One day, all the dyed parts will grow out or be cut off and I will have only my natural hair.  And my natural hair at this time in my life is dark brown, not black, and quite a bit of gray.  Maybe I will have some cool white streaks.  Maybe I will have gorgeous salt and pepper hair.  Maybe I will encourage someone else to give up the dye! Or maybe I will encourage someone else to never give up the dye!  Aging is a funny process and hits us all in the vanity pretty hard. Right now my concern is with how to keep my body active and strong and not how to keep my hair one color.  There is only so much time in a day and I can now be in and out of a hair cut in 30 minutes as opposed to two hours.  90 more minutes to read a book or take a walk or a nap.  90 more minutes to do things I care about instead of something I felt I should care about.  That seems like time better spent. So, if you need me, I will be in my sea cave, combing through this weird hair with a shell, and plotting the overthrow of society.  Who's in?

Shhh. Don't Anyone Talk About This

 This morning, prior to 8am, I found a grey eyebrow hair, a pimple, sweated through my shirt, and told my person I am thinking of not coloring my hair anymore.  But I might still color my hair because what if I end up looking like the Cryptkeeper and made him promise me he would tell me if I did start resembling the Cryptkeeper.  

Self-portrait

This is, unfortunately, a rather normal morning for me lately.  I am, sigh, at this stage in my life no one talks about because we have been conditioned to think that it is an unattractive place and we should deny, deny, deny.  Perimenopause or menopause?  Ten dusty eggs left rattling around in there or none?  No one knows.  And no one talks about it. Maybe in hushed whispers, but no one is talking loudly about it.

Once upon a time and a million years ago or until the 1960's, women were only valued for their child-bearing potential.  Once that shipped passed, so did they.  Relegated to the outside, seen as unattractive and a burden, they were ignored or labeled with amazing monikers like "hag", "crone", "witch".  We were conditioned to accept that we are important, productive, and valued members of society (well, sort-of) until we could not longer have a baby.  So of course no one stood up and said "It's me!  I am waking up with night sweats and haven't had a period in two months!"  They just quietly withered away in a corner and took pleasure from those aging faster than they did.

I am all for feeling better about myself at someone else's expense, sure. But I think we start talking about this weird, weird time in our lives. I feel like a teenager in reverse.  My body is changing, my skin is a mess, and my hair doesn't work anymore.  I am intensely happy and furious and sad.  I am sweaty half the day and night. But producing some sort of dry eggs (I truly imagine them going "pooooof" in a cloud of dust as they release) and still getting wicked PMS and a sort-of period.  Yeah me!  What is happening with other people my age?  I am unsure because NO ONE TALKS ABOUT IT.  And if they do talk about it, we think silently "hag", "crone", "witch" and move away because it could be catching.

I continually feel a juxtaposition of all things. I feel older than the earth, but a good belly laugh makes me feel young again.  I feel unattractive and hideous some days (turn away! turn away!) but am more comfortable in my body than maybe ever.  And that includes its many imperfections. I feel anxious and worried and insecure but I also don't care a lot about what people think.  I am going to stay at this job forever, I am going to find a new one tomorrow.  I have been sensitive about my face in pictures since the Bell's and that is raging at a whole new level.  But then today, I took a decent picture and did not think cryptkeeper. I thought, "okay".

Maybe what we need to all think is "okay".  It's okay that my body is doing weird things.  It's okay that I get pimples and grey hair.  It's okay that I am getting older because my age and my child-bearing abilities do not determine my place in the world. It's okay that I feel like crying and have no idea why.  It's okay that I feel so angry that I could punch a stranger in the face and smile.  And you know? I teach high school so I know that I am called worse things than hag or crone.  So, it's okay.  

We don't need to go around and say "Menopause?" and high-five anyone who nods.  I mean, you can if you want, sure.  I think we need to just find a way to talk about it and be comfortable if other people want to talk about it.  Where is Judy Blume and why hasn't she written about this??  Where is the sequel to Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret where Margaret is 50 plus and she and her girlfriends are welcoming in menopause with wine and rituals like they did their period.  I picture them circled up and saying things like "My ovaries do not determine my worth" while doing pelvic floor exercises.

So, I guess until Judy Blume writes this book and lets the world know it is okay for women to age, we just need to be okay with talking about it.  And that it is happening.  And talking to other people about what is happening.  Because, just like getting periods, it is weird and it is scary, and sometimes, nothing feels okay.  And it feels even worse when no one is talking about it.