My Hair

I have a weird relationship with my hair. 

I rocked the bowl haircut for years, and years. Around 3rd grade, I tried having a perm, (that was quite an experience). After that, my hair went from mostly straight to wavy. Then I began doing this habit of growing it out, then cutting it short. I only did a perm one more time before deciding it's not for me. 

In 9th grade, my hair changed naturally from mousy brown with red low lights to almost jet black. Once I was in high school, I was allowed to highlight my hair. I did this until I was in college. Then the growing it out and cutting it cycle began again. My hair would get super duper long, then I'd cut it really short. This was in part because of my inability to decide how I like my hair. Also, as a young married couple still going to college, we didn't always have money for haircuts, so I just didn't go. I would box dye my hair from time to time, but nothing major. I never dreamed of bleaching my own hair. I'd help friends do their hair, but not mine. I trimmed my bangs once or twice, but never just cut bangs on my own.

The summer I had an ectopic pregnancy, I dyed my hair for comfort. Due to my wacked out hormones, my normal hair color looked way more purple than I ever intended for it to be. {Actually, I never intended it to be purple at all. Imagine my shock...} In an attempt to have control of something while I was putting life on hold to dissolve the ectopic pregnancy, I did Color Oops. I do NOT recommend this. It made my hair change texture. It went from mostly thick and wavy to coarse in places. Not everywhere, mind you, just in random spots on my hair. In hindsight, my hair was becoming more coarse than the hair of my youth. However, this coloring process really sped it up, and I was not aware of what was happening. I would notice the coarse hair and pull it out, trying to bring my hair back to the state I was used to.

Over the years, one of the things that started as a bad habit was pulling my graying/white hairs out. I starting having white/gray hairs pop up around 2016/2017 since I have naturally dark hair. It was so much easier when I was 32 because there was not as much there. I would do a few here and there, and that would be that. Now they are everywhere. In an attempt to have control/something to do/accomplish a goal, {noticing a theme about me?}, I was sit for hours and pick out every hair I could.

Can you guess where this is going?

I was creating bald spots. I even tried stopping at various points with no long-term luck. That's when I decided I would cut my hair short. It would make it hard to pull out the hairs, and my hair would grow out a bit more even again.

Nope. That helped for a bit, but I started using my tweezers to pull out the hairs. TWEEZERS y'all. Ugh. This was a habit, an OCD issue, and a nervous tick. It was always worse when I was stressed out. I would do it brazenly in front of Phil who would beg me to stop. I kept thinking, "Just this last bit of hair, and I'll be done." Was I ever done? No. Phil would have to grab my hand to stop me. 

I started to play computer or video games to get it to stop. Well, that just became a giant time suck that made me feel guilty, which in turn stressed me out, and then I would pull my hair again.

Between having it grow out due to the pandemic, not having money for it, and feeling like I looked like an 80's pop star, I got it cut on my birthday. The issue was, I went to a cheap place that's known mostly for men's cuts. It came out shorter than I wanted, and I can see some uneven sections.

As I'm reminding myself of who I am, I miss my hair so much. (Ugh, why am I crying again?!?) I miss being able to use a ponytail holder without looking like Alfalfa. I miss being able to blow dry it with a regular brush and dryer or my brush/hair dryer. I miss being able to straighten my hair without it looking strange. 

This is me telling myself to NOT cut my hair except to help with the growing out process. If I want to think about what kind of color I may or may not want to do thanks to the white/gray hairs, that's ok. Otherwise, work on taking care of the scalp and hair, and it'll all grow back.

Detox

I'm in the middle of detoxing.

Let me be clear: I am not doing a fad diet. 

Oh don't even get me started on that.

I started taking Lexapro the second time about a month before I gave birth to Lottie in July of 2016. I first took this medicine when David was about 3 1/2 months old. I realized I had postpartum depression, and needed some help. It was such a blessing because soon after starting, Phil injured himself and needed to have knee surgery. I was taking care of two small kids, and driving him to and from work until that fall. By that point, I felt comfortable enough to start weaning off of the Lexapro. It worked out so well!

The reason I started taking it before Lottie was born was due more to anxiety than depression. The month she was conceived, I was rear-ended on my way to handbell practice. It's so weird because I had convinced myself I wouldn't be pregnant because the car accident clearly bumped me too hard for the egg to implant. Wow, that's one of the few time in my life I was not fully correct {HAHAHAHAHAHA} Between he pregnancy being vastly different from my previous two, and that memory, I got incredibly anxious about being in the car. I had convinced myself that I was going to be rear-ended again, and this time it would cause more damage to me, the kids, or Lottie. I had a hard time being in the car, and it made me so anxious I would cry every time I had to leave the house. My doctor started me on Lexapro again, and that made it easier for me to leave the house. I stayed on it because of my history with PPD/PPA, and then I was unexpectedly pregnant again. It would have been too hard on Lexie to stop or wean off of it, or so we understood at the time, so I stayed on it through Lexie's pregnancy, and beyond. 

Around the time I was starting to wonder if I could go off of it, my life on a personal level spontaneously combusted. I say that, when really it was just lots of little things, then a few big things, and I was having an incredibly hard time sorting out my feelings about all of it. It involved church trauma, budget issues, feelings of betrayal, hurt, and sadness... it was a lot. With my doctor's advice, I even added a second medication to help with anxiety. 

Then, well, you know...

So fast forward to a few weeks ago. I was feeling a sort of way that made me decide I won't get any better without having counseling on top of this medication. I had a counselor for a while in 2019, but she stopped working to be at home. I still haven't successfully found someone my insurance will cover that is not insanely expensive. It also doesn't help that both my oldest two need counseling as well. I can't justify doing it for me and not them, so I do it for them and not me. {Obviously not the best choice...}

Then the first week of June, I was supposed to have a telehealth appointment to go over my medication. I accidently missed it. Last time, I was late to the appointment, and that was tough enough. Then to miss it? I felt so ashamed and embarrassed, (why is this making me cry typing it out?!), I just didn't say anything and didn't call them back. {I'll have a whole post about this later. I've got a soapbox to mount}  I had 7 days of my prescription left before I needed a doctor authorized refill. With 4 days to go, I forgot to take a dose due to being exhausted. The next night, I could only find one pill and not the other, so I skipped it on purpose. That turned into a full week before I confessed to Phil what had happened. I was given two options: call and ask for a refill and new appointment, or continue to stop taking the medication. 

I chose the latter.

At first, things were okay. Then this past week, I've been having withdrawal symptoms. I'm incredibly dizzy, I had to parent from the porcelain throne most of day Saturday, (when Phil was out of town for a church retreat), and I couldn't even drink regular tap water like I normally do. I had a breakfast sandwich, and two large fruit punch Gatorades to eat on Friday. The toughest day was Saturday, and Phil and I think that might be my peak. We're going to give it another 2 weeks, and will contact the doctor to see about weaning off instead of doing it cold turkey like I did. 

Despite the physical symptoms, I am feeling pretty good emotionally! I'm having periodic moments of joy without any intrusive thoughts. I am able to function again. I cooked dinner AND breakfast in the last 24 hours by myself! The fact that I was able to work outside of the home for a bit this school year was also a big step. 

Now, I am having other side effects. I am still easily angered, and I'm working on my reaction, especially towards my children. I am also crying a LOT easier than before. {That one makes sense though, because I would have times of being mad or upset and wanted to cry but could not.}

I have more to share, and I WANT to share. 

Let me rephrase that: I've always wanted to share, and now I feel ready and able to again. 

I never wanted to be that person that is always complaining about their life; 1) because I don't want to have a fuss over me, and 2) because there are plenty of others in worse places in life, and my problems are figure-out-able {my favorite phrase for my children}.

More to come, but know I'm still here. I've always been physically here, but mentally/emotionally/spiritually, that's a whole 'nother story.

Blessings,