She is beautiful, cute and young.
She is going to wash my hair.
And later, she will blow it dry, make it smooth and long, so that it curls just slightly at the ends.
She will take a roller brush and do magic with it, like the wand Cinderella’s fairy godmother circled in the air with pixie dust.
I’m getting my hair done. And to everyone around me, I’m just another woman enjoying some me-time at the hair salon.
But, I’m really just a broken, healing little girl inside, learning to take steps out into the world — to walk her out and give her a voice.
I’m learning not to hide. I’m learning to leave the way I’ve always done things, to discover new ways of connecting with people.
I’m learning to choose.
Not to melt into the background. To stop saying I’m okay. Even when I’m not.
I’m learning to dare — to trust there is beauty in being cracked open — and letting others see too.
As she lowers my head back into the sink, she cradles my neck.
Do You Know What I Mean?
“So what do you do?” she asks, as she squirts a few pumps of summer-smelling shampoo into my hair.
I want to tell her what I always say. I’m a stay-at-home mom. I take care of the kids.
Instead, I tell her what I’m just beginning to dare speak into the open air, even though there’s a voice that whispers: Imposter.
“I’m a writer. I like to write.” There. I said it. My heart starts racing.
“Oh…” her eyes grow wide and curious. “What are you writing about?”
Oh, no. Now, I did it. I didn’t want to say. Maybe I should say something generic. I closed my eyes against the spray of the warm rinse of water.
“Well, it depends on what’s happening. I write stories about what I’m going through.” I take a deep breath. And I let it out into the open. “I’m writing about anxiety. Childhood trauma. About making choices. To feed your soul and care for yourself. I’m learning to find my voice.”
“Oh, wow. Really?” She replied. I couldn’t tell if she was really interested, or was it her polite way of signaling this conversation was getting too personal.
I decide to test the waters some more…
To be continued…
…To read the rest of the story “When It’s Time To Leave Safety And Choose” – click here to join me over at DaySpring’s (in)courage site, where today’s post is published.
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Photo credit: Joaquin R. via flickr