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Category: Being a Mom

Becoming Lola – Me Time because Yes, I’m Worth It

Becoming Lola – Me Time because Yes, I’m Worth It

 

Author Sheryl Steines
Not cooking the book.

I’ve never thought of myself as pretty. I just wasn’t one of THOSE girls when I was a kid.

Okay. It’s never really been an issue until after having kids. The body changes, the extra weight. And recently gained weight due to some heavy stress, I’ve feel  very uncomfortable in my own skin.

I want more for myself and my children, than the constantly being down on myself because the days are long, the years are short and we should spend those short years with the people, things and events that make us happy. Whether that’s time with friends and family, sometimes, just taking are of yourself, reminding yourself that your more than a wife, mother, writer, friend is something you need to do. And taking yourself out of your comfort zone, finding new challenges, reinventing yourself, that might be just the thing you need.

Being part of a photo shoot might not be considered fun for people, or useful or have enough substance, but I like to dress up. I like shoes, purses, and makeup. I don’t apologize for being a girly girl. That’s who I am. So when this opportunity came up, I jumped at the chance to do something a little different. Honestly, I hate taking selfies and I don’t put myself in front of cameras often because I’m overly critical of how I look, but this intrigued me. This was different.

I found Bomber Betty Makeup, the way other people get recommendations. I asked my friends on Facebook for a recommendation for a makeup artist. I needed a headshot for the Wizard World Website and that’s when I met Jessica Sawicki.

After explaining my needs, we set an appointment time and she came to my house. I’ve never had my make up done, not like this. It was custom, all for me, and I looked great, if I do say so myself. I loved the make up so much, I’ve been buying it since 2o10.

One day I received an email about a vintage photo shoots. I was intrigued by the glamorous clothing, fun vignettes, and best of all, hair, make up and me time.

I borrowed a dress, circa 1960 and that led to the hairstyle and makeup looks.

I was hesitant when I first saw the hair. Without make up I felt a little school marmish and even considered taking it down. Rather than freaking out, I gave myself time in the make up chair and let Jessica fuss and dab and powder and perfect my face. As the look came together, I saw the vision and frankly, I couldn’t stop looking at myself. I’m not generally vain like that. But my skin was clear, the circles under my eyes gone. I no longer looked stressed or felt rushed and the colors were where colors should be. I smiled and felt good, I felt beautiful and even after the photo shoot, I couldn’t stop looking at myself. It was weird, it was a strange feeling to look in the mirror and see such a different me. Shall I say confident?

A do realize we shouldn’t need a full face of make up and fancy clothes to feel pretty. But what that day did for me was remind me that I’m kinda special and I deserve some quality time alone with me. I’m good, I’m smart and I’m capable. Sometimes we just need to be reminded.

I will say, the below picture. The toughest, most uncomfortable shot for me. Either I never knew how to flirt, or I simply forgot how.

 

Below photos with vintage beauty products. I’m actually sitting on a old hair dryer chair.

 

Thanks to Jessica Sawicki owner of Bomber Betty Custom Cosmetics, hair by Cherry Dollface and photos by Harper Neilsen.

The Water Churns, and Undulates, Alive with Pain, Anger, Love and Loss

The Water Churns, and Undulates, Alive with Pain, Anger, Love and Loss

I’m writing my memoir, sort of. It’s not an exact retelling of my life and the low, very low experiences that have eventually brought me to this point. It’s a lot of poetry, a lot of essays and a lot of imagery.

That’s not so remarkable. JK Rowling wrote about her depression. She made it a character in her books. Remember the dementors? They were an embodiment of the depression she experienced after her divorce. Mine is an image, its water. Water, something that I bathe in everyday, that I drink all day and use to prepare meals. And yet, since I was about six years old, I’ve been terrified of the water.

I learned to swim in a lake. Dark and dirty, I couldn’t see the bottom. I had a loss of control during one class, the day we jumped off the dock and the instructors kept us under water for what seemed like an eternity. I can still see the sun through the greenish water, a dull ball in the sky. I remember the panic waiting for the teacher to lift me out of the water. From that day on, I never liked being in the water.

I tried to learn over the years. I took the classes in high school, but my fear was so gripping that my teacher, while holding me in the deep end, told me, you are too afraid, I can’t teach you here.” She proceeded to swim me to the shallow end, where I spent the rest of the two-week unit, walking. As if that’s not a waste of time.

As I write about my life, about the death of my daughter, I find myself using water as a representation of that horrible time.

“it beats roughly against the rocky coast.”

“The water churns, and undulates, alive with pain, anger, love and loss. Each harsh wave erodes the rocks, removing a piece forever.”

“I can no longer breathe as the water pummels me, suppresses me, I try to scream but my voice can no longer be heard amidst the roar.”

I found myself writing the second entry and the images waters contained my sorrow, my heart-felt apologies, my fear and anger.

The water doesn’t just scare me. It terrifies me. White knuckle terror. When I took swimming lessons after the birth of my second child, I remember swimming in the deep end of pool. I climbed out still wearing my life jacket and stood above the pool. My teacher told me to jump in. My head understood the command, but my legs were grounded to the pool deck. I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed.

This is the imagery that describes the ups and downs. The white water rapids that describe my life. the way I can deliver my message and have others understand how I view my life.

Water terrifies.

Motherhood Uncensored

Motherhood Uncensored

Written on the ink pad app on my phone, while waiting for the doctor. All that’s been changed are spelling errors. It’s time to say what I need to say.

tired mother

It’s not a fight I wanted to get into. I didn’t want to gear up for more trouble, problems, and issues. Yet somehow I am.

We can say we want healthy children, normalcy, and a happy life. Smart, productive children, good in school and we’ll raise them to be self-sufficient, and confident.

Looking back on the carefully formulated plan, I offer a snort of derision. It’s complete and total bullshit. Because sometimes life just doesn’t cooperate.

After 2 1/2 years of infertility, and a miserable pregnancy, I gave birth to twins. It should have been joyous, it should have been my reward for the struggle of trying to get pregnant. It was bittersweet. It was a nightmare. ‘Now what’, I asked myself when baby A was born with a terminal illness. With one healthy baby and one not, I entered into motherhood under the worst conditions you could imagine.

There’s no worrying about raising confident girls, there’s only the daily struggle of keeping a child alive, of rotating nurses, doctor’s orders, do not resuscitate orders and hospice care.

When a child dies, you have 2 choices, step on the new path with your new life and the knowledge of what it is to bury an 11 month old baby, or you can lay down and die. I still had a baby to care for.

As I raised my twin less twin, I did it wracked with guilt. Did I do enough can I be enough?

I still couldn’t follow the plan because that second child had her own battle. Another fight, more advocating for my child. Debilitating anxiety, ADHD. Having to hold the hand of a child old enough to do for herself, fearful that adulthood, which one day will come, will render her incapable. A constant battle to raise her to support herself, handle a job interview, live on her own.

It’s not the usual and its exhausting, stressful and makes me numb. Joy is lost because the little things are big things and there are always issues.

My youngest daughter was my easy, happy-go-lucky kid. The one who found joy in everything. The cool kid who listened to 80s music on a record player, loved comic con, and simply allowed normalcy. Until it wasn’t normal anymore.

She came out as lesbian at 13. I told her I love her, it will be fine. If only that was the end.

There was pain behind those eyes, masked by a laugh. When you fly out of work one day because the nurse calls to tell you your daughter wants to commit suicide. The pain was there and she hides it well. The cutting up and down both arms is hidden by long sleeve sweatshirts in the middle of November. Depression drugs and outpatient programs are arranged and decided.

The storm at some point had to end.

oceanOr so we think. I’m so tired of the battles. I’m so tired of the doctors, the pills, the planning. It keeps me up at night because someone has to control it. That is me…mom.

It’s not over. It hasn’t really started. This newest battle I’m just embarking on. The one that my daughter feels, she was a boy all along.

I will never understand. All my weary brain sees is another problem. Another battle, this one, I dread. I know what’s coming and it isn’t easy.

Transgender. My kid. My world, as it implodes in on itself, I struggle to stand, to understand, to keep walking forward to the end of another tunnel.

It’s not about me, it’s never been about me and yet it is always me. What I wouldn’t give to simply raise my kids to be strong individuals, confident and happy.

Funny how somewhere in the midst of all of it, they finally are.

 

 

The Days are Long, but…

The Days are Long, but…

“The days are long, but the years are short” – Gretchen Rubin author of the Happiness Project

There is no other sentiment that I find more true than this. We see it as we look back at our lives, periods of time that while we live through them seem to linger if we’re lucky or we trudge on through them only waiting for the end to finally reveal itself.

My life moves by in periods of sadness or happiness, because I’ve lived through more things than anyone should have to. College graduation, the birth of my children, finishing my first book; or through a lengthy, difficult pregnancy, the death of a child, post partum depression, a children with issues not of the norm. They can be difficult pits of despair or the highs that give us a reason to keep trying.

Time. It moves quickly and it’s slippery, like trying to hold water in our hands. We can’t contain it or control it. And the older we get the faster is seems to move. And for me at this moment, after the good and the bad, it moves so quickly I wish I could stop the rotation of the earth so that I can take a breath. Breathe and feel instead of constantly fighting for something.

I work almost everyday to write my books. It’s a long process, a difficult process for me. And as I realize that it’s been five years since I wrote The Day of First Sun, I should be proud and happy. Instead, time chases me. I’ve come no farther than those first days, finding myself at the beginning, no closer to my goals. And time, it teases me, suffocates me and reminds me that I can’t beat it, I can’t win against it. Time will always keep marching.

And I will keep marching, stepping to the rhythm of time and become one with it, not rub against it. I still have my goals and I still shoot for that end, to support myself as a published author. The goal hasn’t changed, it just feels more intense, more urgent.

Time will always move forward, but I won’t let it beat me.

 

 

 

Becoming Lola – Girls Weekend

Becoming Lola – Girls Weekend

We all need time away, time to process or not to not process, to unplug, unwind and hang with someone who totally gets you.

For my birthday, I loaded up the car, because I always over pack and headed to Holland, Michigan with my friend Marilyn. It was the perfect place to all of the above, and only three hours from home with just enough to keep us busy or not, for four days.

The location was beautiful, along Lake Michigan, with cute little towns, lots of great shopping, outside cafe’s along the lake, a great hiking dune, with a 239 step climb and a two-mile trail. And we did it all in my convertible. What’s not to like?

It was the perfect weekend with a great traveling companion. But for me it was something a little more. I’ve been making the most of my summer off from work, partially because I can’t find another job, partially because there’s so many things for me to catch up on and frankly, I’d rather be writing books for a living than anything else. But a weekend away, with a good friend, no kids, no husband, was what I needed. Time to just be me. Not mom, not wife, not pack mule. Just Sheryl.

I’ve been on a journey of sorts, one in which I’ve been taking myself out of my comfort zone, doing things that stress me out a little and it all started with the re-writing of my first book The Day of First Sun. In the five years since I wrote that book, I’ve evolved. I can tell because my evolution is reflected in Annie Pearce journey. She started out, maybe tough as nails, finding it difficult to let someone in and now she’s a loving, confident woman who sometimes isn’t. She changes and grows and is a far more complete character as she discovers who she is. Much like me, like the journey I’ve been on as I try new things, discover who I am and what I want my life to be.

For the first time since I lost my daughter to an undiagnosed neural muscular disease, I finally feel unstuck and in a place where I’m moving forward, and not standing still in the muck. Becoming Lola, my way of shaking myself up and moving out of a comfort zone has been an eye opener. Where once I thought incapable of doing the simplest things I now realize that when my car overheats three hours from home, I’m more than able to buy and use the antifreeze, let alone simply driving there in the first place.

Fear is paralyzing, and it’s in the relearning to do the simplest things, we realize that writing that book is really not so hard. Only the first step is.

For my first steps, check out Introvert to Sales Goddess on Amazon.com

In Honor of Nurses

In Honor of Nurses

It’s Nurse Appreciation Week and I’ve been re-tweeting and sharing statements on Facebook and Twitter about how much nurses are super heroes. So I decided to share my personal experience with nurses and why they’re not just empty shares and tweets.

On April 24, 1998 at 10:11 and 10:13 pm I gave birth to two beautiful little girls. My daughter Stephanie was born first, and after fertility issues, a miserable pregnancy and a long labor, Stephanie was delivered. And when my daughter didn’t move or make a sound, my first thought was, “Now What?”

Kayla came into the world two minutes later crying and screaming, healthy and alive. Stephanie, fragile with an unknown disorder, was transferred to a neo natal unit at a different hospital as the doctors and nurses did all they could to keep my daughter alive, where she lived the first three months of her life.

It was heartbreaking, bittersweet and I was scared. And every time I went to the hospital, it was awful, watching the monitors drop and beep and not understand at that time that what was happening.

Unsure and tentative, I remember one day talking to my baby over her crib, she looking up at me best she could as her muscles degenerated, becoming weaker. The nurse saw my apprehension to pick up my child, came over and lifted Stephanie’s head and in a tiny voice, the nurse spoke for my daughter and said, “But mommy, I’m only a baby.”

I will never forget that turning point moment when I realized I could do this. I could care for my child. With the nurses support, I learned the medical and that she was a baby and holding her, kissing her and cuddling, might not be as easy but it was doable and necessary.

I have stories, so many of them; the time the nurse encouraged me to record my voice for my daughter while she was at the hospital, or the nurse who helped me make calls to find my daughter a car seat because there were none that a child could lie down in, or the pediatric hospice nurse, who listened to things I couldn’t tell another soul but that I needed to say to someone, only she understood, who also came to the house when my daughter died even though we no longer had hospice care.

They are angels on earth, give of themselves, supportive to families in the confusing, frustrating world of medicine. I will never forget and I owe them a great deal of gratitude. Thank you to the nurses who are on the front lines. We families in our time of need appreciate the love, care and support you give.

Becoming Lola – Day 1

Becoming Lola – Day 1

It’s time I reinvent myself. I’m thinking of dyeing my hair orange and calling myself Lola. (Nov 24, 2014)

The last six months have been some of the worst both personally and professionally. I’m sorry if I haven’t been happy for some of you in your successes or supportive of some of you when you’ve been at your worst. And as I try to figure out whereto go from here, I had a very weird epiphany in the shower this morning. Day one starts today… (Feb 28, 2015)

This is what the world sees of me on the outside. Put together, shiny, okay. But after the last six months, after the last sixteen in a half years of raising children, that’s not me. As my life on the outside seems rather normal and put together, on the inside it’s chaotic and I feel like I’m constantly living on the edge of the storm being sucked in at regular intervals.


This is me. Everything gets shoved into a disorganized mess, because I can’t keep up. My closets are the same way. Everything gets tossed aside, forgotten. Messy piles of disorganization.

This website is much like my life. I started three years ago to become an expert in fantasy and science fiction to coordinate with the sale of my first book The Day of First Sun. But as I struggled with the book and a job I didn’t like, I wrote a book about the struggles of being an introvert trying to sell sponsorships. My focus on the website has been about that. And now my website is a bit schizophrenic and doesn’t know what it is. Much like me. I wish sometimes the world would stop and give me 24 hours just so I can sort through everything, clean it up and try to fix the ills.

frustrationMy children both have issues that need attention and because of that our family is scattered, fighting to stay above water, mostly alone. While I wallow in all of this mess, an epiphany hit me in the shower.  More of a plan. I decided I would seek out experiences. Some outside my comfort zone, and others, just to try something new.

Today is day one. With the stress of a depressed child and one with debilitating anxiety, I’ve gained some weight. Not much but enough to no longer fit into my clothes. I’ve lost muscle mass, my lower back and stomach hurt. Day one is a restart of the plan that I currently live daily, though I’ve gotten lazy and cheat too much, because I’m a stress eater. This time I’m determined to follow the plan with more dedication and less cheating. Body for Life has been my go to for years. When I follow it, I’m stronger, healthier and happier. And today is killing me as I retrain my brain to eat what I’m supposed when I should be eating it. I’ll cheat on my cheat day next Saturday. I can hardly wait. So the point of day one is, before I can fix the rest of my life, I fix this.

I share because someone else might benefit, someone else might realize they’re not alone and that some times is helpful. I’m finding my voice but not letting these issues hold me back any longer. I have a plan. I’ll be learning new things, going outside my comfort zone. Though I don’t plan on running a marathon or climbing Mt. Everest, I will try to train for a 5 K (as long as my back holds out) and I desperately want to take lessons at the American Ninja Warrior Gym I found on-line. Yeah, I’m a fan. Some like reality television, I like me some obstacle courses.

There’s more on my list that I’m keeping a secret. But I promise I’ll share. I also promise that I’ll take into consideration any suggestions as long as they don’t involve deep water. I’m terrified and trust me I’ve tried to overcome that. Or anything that could endanger my back, because I lifted my yoga mat funny and was in pain for three weeks.

Some adventures I’ll share with my kids others will be solely my own. In the end, I hope I come out of the stress and anxiety with a greater sense of who I am. Less chaotic, with a greater ability to help my kids, and a plan on how to achieve the dream I’ve had since I was seven, being a writer. Wish me luck!

The Mother Load

The Mother Load

I spent the last day of 2014 and the first two days of 2015 crying. Partially because I dislike my job and would prefer be doing anything other than what I am doing, but mostly because I’m emotionally exhausted.

There is this idea that the new year is a great time to reflect and resolve to change something, improve on ourselves. I don’t necessarily make new year’s resolutions, but this year, the bad stuff that I endured during 2014, hit me hard and left me feeling as though I had just flown into a brick wall.

I’m no stranger to bad things. I gave birth to twins 16 1/2 years ago after enduring fertility issues and a bad pregnancy. one twin, was born with a neuromuscular disorder that claimed her life at 11 months old. I thought after the stress of caring for a terminally ill child and the pain of watching her die was my stumbling block, my brick wall, my pain that I would move on from and live my life.

But life is chaos and you can’t necessarily be certain that you only have one hell to live through. As it turns out, I was still to live through post partum depression and to come out it to endure with my second daughter debilitating anxiety.  Light breezes to stormy winds, had her hiding in the basement. She spent time with the social worker, a therapist and a psychologist all in the hopes of helping her come out into the open. It was hard, being present for the temper tantrum at the zoo, people watching my 10 year old child screaming because the wind was too much. It’s hard planning for the future when she choses not to live it thinking we’ll take care of her long past becoming an adult and having to teach her everything so she can deal with her future.

And when we finally came near the light at the end of the struggle, hell opened up once more. The youngest child, the one that found the joy in life, the one that was the happiest, tried everything and enjoyed herself, was depressed. Not the blues, not situational, but seriously depressed. She was going through something more than the average teenager as she navigated her world and came to conclusions about who she was. We all have those moments and most of us scrape by and move on, but when the pain is so overwhelming you need help through it, whether it be alcohol, drugs or in her case, self injury, it more than just average.

It’s the process of doctors and drugs and therapy. I’ve done it all before, but this time, it was protecting my teenager from herself, trying to keep her healthy and not trusting her with her own safety. It’s beyond stressful, and it’s exhausting.

I know I’m not alone in this journey. I’ve met several other parents through our work with the outpatient program who are living the same nightmare as me. And with every  hell I’ve found myself in, I move through it by taking one step at a time, baby steps. As long as I’m moving forward, I will eventually come to that light.

But this new year was almost too much to handle. To much sadness and too much feeling as though I’ve failed my kids somehow. Did I not read to them enough, was I too lenient? Too much feeling that I’m inadequate and not qualified. And after having my temper tantrums the ones that I so needed because I have never given in to them before, I realized it was time to really take stock of my life and see what it was all about.

I’m always five minutes away from shutting down my website, closing the Twitter account and removing my author page on Facebook. I almost decided to delete my novels from computer or at the very least store them elsewhere. Because the realization that I’m not good at any of this or not even a good writer hit me as did everything else.

And as I thought seriously about everything, I decided quitting wasn’t in my nature. Not this time. I can’t quit on the kids as much as I can’t quit on myself. Writing and creating is who I am, and at least with that, the writing is my therapy.

I can only hope that 2015 is a better year. That my kids grow into healthy young adults and that I no longer grimace as I hold back the tears. Maybe this is the year that I have a truly publishable book that I can proudly sell and that I start winning a few.

There’s only quitting or there’s pushing through whether we obtain our goals or not. We have one life and we need to do the best that we can with it.

There’s no woe is me and I expect no pity, only understanding that right now, it’s hard and I’m entitled to an occasional moment of doubt and the inevitable breakdown.

With everything, I find the positive. And I expect that 2015 will be better.

 

Depression

Depression

depression_3You either know what if feels like or you’ve been lucky enough to weather life’s storms without that intense pain and sadness that sometimes grips us during those dark times.

As an onlooker watching a loved one live through depression it’s not for you to understand what it is to be depressed or what it feels like to breathe underwater, scream in whispers muffled by the weight of the water. Its not your job to fix it. It’s for you to offer unconditional love and support, not give suggestions or answers. Depression isn’t black or white. It’s a light gray, dark gray and every shade of gray in between, and there is no one single answer that can make it go away.

There is a standard of care, between drugs and therapy that can be applied but no matter how good that medicine or therapy is, depression just doesn’t go away. There is always an underlying cause of the pain. Only time and therapy will ease the pain. The medicine, it can only ease so much.

We don’t chose to be depressed, we can’t just get happy, like we can’t change our eye color or change our sexual orientation. Some things we are just born with. And sometimes we’re born with a chemical imbalance that tugs us in opposite directions. It feels like a violent storm, like we’re falling and flaying and grasping for something. And you can’t pick yourself up because you’re paralyzed by fear or overwhelmed by feelings you can’t understand.

Sometimes you dull that pain, hide in the shadows, masking those feelings with drugs, alcohol or self injury. But the pain is only knocked out for a brief moment. It will always come back.

I’ve been depressed before and I understand that turbulent storm, the pictures that flash in your head because it can’t slow down, it can’t relax, it can’t heal. But this time, I’m on the outside looking in. I’m forced to relive my struggle as I offer unconditional love and support. And my heart breaks because there is nothing I can do to ease the pain for someone else.

If this is you seek help. Start with your doctor. If it’s your child start with their pediatrician. There is help.

Web MD

 

depression

Hair Says What Now??? And the Stupid Who Can’t Shut Up About It

Hair Says What Now??? And the Stupid Who Can’t Shut Up About It

hairPerusing the internet the other day I found a blog from a mother whose son chose to wear his hair long. He like it long and was owning the look. Now long hair on boys and men really isn’t such a big deal now a days, but for this mom, it was. It wasn’t because she wanted her son to have short hair and be something he wasn’t but she didn’t like the reaction of those around him, to his long hair. She complained that he was constantly called she or her and she was tired of strangers telling mom that she had three beautiful daughters. Yes she had two beautiful daughters and one handsome son.

I know exactly what that mom was going through. I have a beautiful, smart, athletic and funny daughter who from the very beginning was nothing but a tom boy and has spent most of her 14 years, trying to figure out who she is. Until she was five she wore clothes from the boy’s section. At 3 she wanted her hair short like a boy. I was hesitant because she dressed like a boy and I didn’t want confusion for her or others. We made a compromise of sorts and the hairdresser did a great job giving her a cut that was short but kept her looking like a girl. She was thrilled. But eventually kids change their minds and she began growing out the once adorable cut. Still wearing boy clothes as her hair grew out, she oftentimes would be called he, him or my son. It would anger me and as she got older it bothered her.

She knows she’s a girl, but she’s not like the other girls. She doesn’t like pink or princesses. But she loved the Twilight books and she loves to hunt, wear perfume and makeup. If my daughter could, she’d live in basketball shorts but on that rare occasion that she has to dress up she doesn’t stop and slacks and a blouse. She goes all out strapless party dress with converse gym shoes. My daughter is just who she is but she hasn’t found her place in society or even in her circle of friends.

Who she is, is a unique kid who knows what she likes but surrounded by crazy, stupid, hormonal teenagers, she gets picked on and bullied, something I wasn’t completely aware of until I let her get a short hair cut. I convinced her to not go crazy and get that short spiked do’ but a very cute Anne Hathaway at the Oscars hair style. My daughter was adorable, one of great faces for short hair. I loved it, she loved it and felt very comfortable in her own skin. But her boyfriend at the time, granted they were 11, broke up with her, she was called a lesbian and teased about an awful hair cut.

My heart breaks for my daughter who so desperately wants to fit in but has her own style that makes her not quite fit in. I gave her a choice. You take responsibility for your look and ignore the stupid around you or you find a way to fit in that makes you comfortable and allows you to be you. She chose the latter because she’s not quite confident enough to own her look yet. I’ve worked with her on crafting a style that allows her to fit in and yet honor her style. Ripped blue jeans, rock and roll t-shirts from the girls section because their cut closer to the body and teal converse shoes, allow her to be her and yet, be a girl too. I’m willing to let her experiment with her style, her hair, her make up but not her hair length.  Because after all she went through and after growing her hair out she now wants it short again. I feel bad but I told her no. Not because I don’t want her to be herself but because I’m worried about the stupid that surrounds her.

Hair is so much of who we are, it’s the first thing people notice about us and they can perceive so much about who we are whether its correct or not. I promised my daughter that she could cut off her once blonde hair and cut it short but only when those around her are mature enough to not open their mouths. But then again, my daughter is 14 and has changed her mind again, she wants long extensions.

We can only do our best with our children as we navigate the ups and downs of raising them. I hope that someday my daughter will have a better sense of herself and trust that those around her will like her for who she is and not what she wears or by the length of her hair.

 

 

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