The day I became a woman (hair drama, part 1)

You would think that after birthing 5 babies, owning a business, starting a ministry, and "pastoring" a church, I would have considered myself an adult.  But it wasn't until that fateful day in an upscale salon in Georgia that I would truly graduate into womanhood.

You see, my story begins in the early 80's with a Jheri curl.  It was my first fashionable hairstyle.  In a effort to keep up with the latest trend, I found myself subject to my stylist's opinion and expertise.  On that day, I lost myself.  For years to come the loss would only get worse. I was controlled by stylists, trends, and processes that left my tresses in an unruly rut.

I have had every cut and style from pixie to micro.  I've had colors that didn't "take," and waited 12 hours for extensions.  I've had relaxer left in my hair and shampoo saturating my blouse.  I've been tricked into "new" locations (all questionable, one even a crime scene) and driven across state lines all at the mercy of the lady with the barbicide.  My reward...at best, a dry itchy scalp with breakage and the same "wiggy" layered cut for years to come.

So imagine my exuberance when I thought I had found the "one."  She was a beautiful lady in my age range.  She worked in an upscale salon and had a track record for her timeliness. She helped me bring my hair back to a healthy state after it was over processed, and I never had to redo my "do." We had a 3 year client/stylist relationship. So when I decided to take a breather from chemicals, I went in for a haircut.  This stylist was my friend, so I trusted her completely with my healthy hair.  She is the only one who had ever cut my hair (in GA.)  Her expertise was the reason for my decision.

That fateful day I went in, we had great conversation.  We talked about the kids, the weather, and the economy.  She was her cheery cute self, and I was my quiet, melancholy usual.  She finished and asked me for $70.  I thought it was $55, but maybe with the economy and all.... She didn't offer me the mirror, but she was backed up and all...... I paid her, TIPPED her, trusted her, and left. A quick glance at my "Rhianna" cuteness and I was off to run errands for the rest of the day. 

When I got home to show off my hair to my crew my nonchalant husband requested my usual 360 degree twirl then asked,  "Is that a new style that I don't know about?" This is the horror I saw:

My girl had jacked me up!!  And with a smile on her face!  THIS my friends is when I became a woman!  I did not cuss, I did not cry, I did not confront.  Instead, I strengthened myself in the Lord just as David did in Ziklag  after he had no more strength to cry (1 Sam. 30:6).  I was done.  I was finished being subject to substandard stylists with delusions of grandeur and excessive bills to pay. I was done being ruled by the latest salon trends and Hollywood hairstyles.  I had completed the course of having hair like the girl in the magazine or on the stage.  I was no longer my hair. My stylist was no longer my god. My trust was in God, even in  this. 

 I have no animosity towards my former stylist.  We all have bad days.  She taught me a lesson that day... I'm the boss of me. And she was NOT my friend.