I’ve been spotting gray hairs in my once jet-black mane since my early twenties. At first, I plucked them out—ouch!—but as they appeared less frequently, I decided to embrace them as a preview of the future (thankfully, a distant one).
Now that I’m nearing the end of my 30s, those grays are making an enthusiastic comeback and seem to have settled in for good. While my hair still looks primarily black, I’ve had playful comments like, “Oh look, you’re graying!” from friends. My 8-year-old, on the other hand, doesn’t hold back: “Mom, why is there a white hair sticking up on your head?”
Sometimes, my grays are even conspicuous in pictures, especially when the sunlight hits just right. During a recent haircut, my stylist casually asked if she could trim a few of those rebellious grays poking up. “You won’t miss them,” she chuckled.
After returning home, I caught a glimpse of my new look in the mirror and noticed a patch of gray near my cheekbones, boldly on display for the world to see. It dawned on me that my hair was changing faster than I anticipated, and I was at a loss about how to handle it.
On one hand, I’ve always been a “natural beauty” advocate. In high school, I embraced my inner hippie and even went through a phase where I skipped shaving altogether. Nowadays, I’m more conventional but still keep my beauty routine minimal. I get haircuts only when split ends become a problem, and my makeup bag consists of a single lipstick and some mascara for special occasions.
I consider myself a liberated woman when it comes to beauty standards. I reject societal norms dictating how women should look and appreciate beauty in all its forms. Watching women conform to restrictive ideals is something I find cringeworthy.
Aging doesn’t freak me out either. With age comes wisdom, resilience, and a deeper sense of self. I’ve come to terms with many signs of aging—my belly, laugh lines, and creaky bones—but my hair feels different. My striking black hair against my fair skin has been a defining trait for as long as I can remember. The thought of it changing feels unsettling.
At my mother’s age, she was fully committed to hair dye. She told me that her graying started in her late 30s, seemingly overnight. Contrastingly, my father didn’t go gray until his 50s. If I follow my mother’s path and become mostly gray soon, I know the temptation to color my hair will be strong. I feel youthful and energetic, especially with kids to keep up with. And let’s face it, most of my friends in their 40s aren’t rocking full gray heads—or they at least cover it.
Yet, the idealist in me wants to rebel against altering my appearance to fit in. I might want to try being a chic gray-haired woman for a while. However, I’m cautious about the chemicals involved in hair dye. What if I don’t turn gray until my 50s? That prospect feels distant, much like how far my 50s feel from my current reality.
I’m hopeful that I’ll have time to acclimate to my grays, and by the time they become prominent, I’ll embrace my new identity. But, as life often goes, change can come suddenly and without warning. I’m open to the possibility that I might fight to maintain my black-haired self.
Ultimately, whether my grays arrive gradually or all at once, I’ll need to make a choice about whether to color my hair or not. Right now, I’m caught in a whirlwind of mixed feelings.
But that’s life, isn’t it? As much as I crave certainty about the future, it seems I’ll have to navigate the gray area of this journey—with the option to cover it up if I choose. For more insights on navigating changes in life, check out our other blog post here.
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In summary, as I face the inevitable graying of my hair, I’m torn between embracing natural beauty and conforming to societal expectations. I hope to grow into my grays gracefully, but I know I’ll have to make a decision about coloring my hair down the road.